Nexus
by Halm Vendrella
Summary: The year is 1348. History tells us much about the Black Death and its terrible cost, but no one living knew just how close the world came to its end. Follow the seeds of the Traitor's War, planted amidst the living world's darkest hour.
1. Chapter One: Perception

**Chapter One**

**Perception**

The world was too bright. The sun had long since set behind the walls of the _Seireitei_, yet the moon above resolved the streets and structures with an eerie clarity. That wasn't it, though. Shunsui Kyoraku had seen full moons before, more than he could count, but this was not the look of moonlight. There was an unsettling glow about the Court, seeping from every brick and tile. _Even the _reishii_ are restless these days_. It was a pity, but complaints against the spirit particles could not improve his nap. He found a suitable compromise in pulling his straw hat lower over his eyes.

Before Kyoraku could doze off again, the door beside him slid open with a wooden whisper. "Hanging about other people's front doors, Shunsui? Not very cultured of you," a sedate voice commented.

Kyoraku did not so much as flinch. "Of course, you should've been waiting on me," he replied. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"You seem to have made the best of things. How long have you been lying there?"

"Long enough to be comfortable. Are you sure you're ready to leave?"

In spite of the plaintive note in Shunsui's voice, the other man did not sound sympathetic. "Get yourself someone to come home to, lad, and you might learn to say goodbye properly."

One long finger tipped the hat back far enough to reveal a bestubbled smile. "I didn't think your daughter was old enough for marriage offers, Kijuro-_kun_."

"Still dreaming of a woman able to put up with you, Shunsui? I rather meant you find a cat."

"Feh. You win," Kyoraku conceded, rising to his feet with simple grace. He gave a lingering sigh, tilting his head to observe the night sky. "We shouldn't keep Ol' Yama waiting."

Kijuro shifted, tugging at the hem of the white _haori_ about his shoulders. The moon was reflected in his wire-rimmed spectacles, while the ghostly light suffusing the Court made the gray in his sideburns stand out amongst his short black hair. "Yamamoto's message was unlike him," he agreed. "I've never seen a hell butterfly so insistent." The two men exited the private garden of Kijuro's manse. He was one of the few captains who maintained a home outside his division barracks. It was little more than an apartment, set amongst a few small rows of trimmed hedges and meticulously laid gardens, but nestled in a quiet corner of the Court it was well away from the crowded commotion of the _Gotei_ Thirteen.

"Everyone's on edge," Kyoraku observed. "The deployments to the living world are taking their toll."

"You seem no worse for the wear."

"What's a little stress with a good bottle of sake at hand?"

Not a young man, the laugh lines in Kijuro's face were well defined, and stood out when he smiled. "You must delight your subordinates with an attitude like that."

"You assume I'm a good enough captain to share."

"The tab? Always."

"Now, now, you know me better than that. I haven't been to a tavern since…"

"The last one stopped serving you?"

Shunsui made a face. "That hurts, Kijuro-_kun_, really it does. No, it's been since the rotation started. I still think Yama-_ji_ designed it to keep my old drinking company separate."

"I'd be surprised if he hadn't. I don't suppose it's stopped you."

"It's been a long time since Ol' Yama's Academy, but it was you that taught me adaptation, _sempai_. It's a big world, with so many nice, quiet places to indulge."

"It's well you're such a tranquil drunkard. Dragging you back to your office from all corners of Soul Society would be impossible otherwise."

It was remarkable how little difference there was between amusement and melancholy in Kyoraku's smile. "Masaki was good about that."

"I heard about him. I'm sorry."

As quick as it had gone, the slyness was back in Shunsui's expression. "Sorry enough to let me have Kisuke Urahara?"

Kijuro chuckled. "The two of you in the same plane of existence is trouble enough," he remarked. "Putting you in the same division would be criminal."

"He's overdue for a promotion, and you don't have anywhere else to put him," Kyoraku countered. His heavy-lidded eyes took on a boyish twinkle. "There's only so much damage the two of us can do."

"Is that supposed to reassure me? Besides, he's not exactly your type. Why would you want my third seat for your new lieutenant?" He sounded curious.

"Sad to say I don't have anyone fit for the job. My third is too timid, my fourth is too ambitious, and both are too young. And my fifth seat," Kyoraku concluded, his expression becoming almost queasy, "is an Omaeda."

The other's response to the name was a visible cringe. "Isn't he the one they tried to marry into the Kuchiki family?"

Kyoraku nodded. "They couldn't say 'no' fast enough."

"Just as well. Five Great Noble Families is more than enough, and right now, losing his lieutenant to an unhappy marriage is the last thing Ukitake needs."

Once more, the captain of the Eighth Division sobered. "Have you seen him since we got back?"

Kijuro had no need to clarify which of the other _shinigami_ the question concerned. There was a long pause. "He is not well."

"You don't mean—"

"No," Kijuro was quick to reassure. "The physicians are positive that he's showing no unusual symptoms. They should know; they won't let him out of the Fourth Division Ward."

The lines beneath the stubble around Kyoraku's mouth deepened. The current rotation had the Thirteenth Division as one of the three units keeping order among the swell of new souls in the _Rukongai_. They were scheduled to return to the living world within the week, though whether their captain would lead them there was still in doubt. Their duties now were hardly safe, but at least they were close at hand. Still, if Shunsui knew his friend, there was no way of binding written that could keep Juushiro Ukitake in Soul Society when his division was moving into harm's way. "I meant to see him, before the summons came," Kyoraku lamented.

Kijuro's smile was cryptic. "I wager you'll see him sooner than you think."

Shunsui didn't quite know how to reply to that. They were at last approaching the headquarters of the First of the Thirteen Court Guardian Divisions, the heart of the collective operations of the _shinigami_. Even at this late hour, the entrance was open, torchlight from within the building spilling onto the pathway. The sentries to either side of the tall double doors were clear-eyed and scowling, with backs as straight as the pikes they held. They allowed the two familiar faces to pass without contest.

Between the twin rows of torches, the meeting hall was all but filled with a massive table. Even so, it was not the largest presence there. Standing at the head of the table, in front of the only chair in the room, was a wrinkled old man with a flowing white beard twined with purple ribbon. He grasped a gnarled cane in equally gnarled fingers, but no weight was placed upon it. And whatever his appearance, Captain-Commander Shigekuni Yamamoto-Genryuusai commanded attention.

"You're keeping odd hours, Yama-_ji_," Shunsui called. "It's not good for your health."

"Captain Kyoraku. Captain Ise," Yamamoto greeted them. His voice was rolling gravel, and ponderous as his beard. "Enter."

The two captains stepped forward, Kyoraku's eyes sweeping over the table, across which was spread two detailed maps, both maintained through the efforts of the _Kido_ Corps. One showed the portion of the living world for which they were responsible. Swaths of color glimmered about the chart, subtle shifts in hues of red and gold. The golden patches were most noticeable around the collections of tiny numbered blue cones, scarce and scattered though they were. Shunsui grimaced at the sight, which had not grown any less depressing since his last visit to the command center.

The second map, and its ringed layers of sore familiarity, Kyoraku tried to avoid looking at entirely.

It was tough to pinpoint when the plague in the mortal world had begun. Almost overnight its fearsome mortality had overwhelmed the _Seireitei_'s ability to maintain the smooth flow of souls from the living world, filling it with aimless spirits. From that had arisen a surge in the number of hollows risking the trek to the mortal plane, making an already daunting task all the more dangerous. By the time the first of the surge of Pluses had begun descending into hollows themselves, the living world had become a banquet of souls in such proportions as to draw out the menos from their hiding places. Hardly a day went by without report of a gillian, and there had been eight sightings and three confirmed purifications of adjuchas, the ultimate terrors of Hueco Mundo, which had not been seen in the living world for a millennium. There were even stories – not reports, just hearsay – of even greater hollows. (On that front, Shunsui felt they had quite enough problems without making any more up.) In spite of it all, the _shinigami_ had fought long and hard. But just when they had been making progress, a revelation still unexplained to this day threatened to make their challenge an impossible one.

The plague had spread into Soul Society itself.

It was quickly traced to souls which had died of the disease in the living world. This had not helped explain it, but at least helped the _shinigami_ contain it. They had to sequester the infected souls from the rest, and to prevent an epidemic within the _Rukongai_, three of the _Gotei_ Thirteen were assigned the task. The second map on the table displayed the results of those efforts, with all the appeal of a bowl of rotten fruit.

As a rule, spirit bodies were hardier than their flesh counterparts, so the plague was neither as contagious nor as deadly as it was to the living. That was little consolation to the residents of the _Rukongai_, however, and not even the _shinigami_ were immune to its effects. Three divisions were on leave at all times, which allowed them to both recover from their stressful assignments and receive preventative treatment. Fourth Division's support efforts on both sides of the _Senkaimon_ since the start of the plague had been nothing short of heroic; theirs was the only division yet to receive any sort of relief.

With seven divisions in Soul Society and six constantly deployed to the living world, the best that could be said of all the _Gotei_ Thirteen's efforts was they were breaking even. It had been so now for ten years.

"I apologize for calling the two of you away from your rest," Genryuusai began. "However, this mission will not require your full divisions, merely yourselves. It is to be undertaken while your subordinates are recovering." The Captain-Commander could be long-winded when the mood struck him, but his tone for the briefing was nothing of the sort. "We have received a request for aid from Avalon."

Captain Kijuro Ise cocked his head to one side, his expression quizzical. "I don't mean to sound callous, but they do realize we have problems of our own?"

"It's a strange time for an interest in inter-regional cooperation," Kyoraku observed.

"It is a request for combat assistance. My counterpart was given details of our current situation and did not relent." The Captain-Commander's eyes opened almost imperceptibly to take in the map of the living world. "They would not say so outright, but I feel Avalon is weathering this crisis worse than Soul Society, and for them it has just begun. This request has not been made lightly."

"What did the Central Forty-Six have to say?" asked Ise.

Yamamoto gave a rather ambiguous cough. "They have decided to allow the Captain-Commander full autonomy to address this matter."

"Don't ask us, we'll ask you," Shunsui muttered, shaking his head. Soul Society's governing body had deferred more and more to the _Gotei_ Thirteen as the conflict dragged on. At first it had been refreshing to avoid the bureaucracy, and the Chambers had also been keen to focus on maintaining order from within the _Seireitei_ while leaving the world of the living to those who knew it best. But as much as he respected Yamamoto, Kyoraku knew the Captain-Commander was not over fond of… delegating.

"The situation and timing are not ideal, but our efforts are making progress," Yamamoto went on. "As your divisions are off of the front-line assignments at this time, I believe you two captains can be spared."

"I would ask that you count again, Genryuusai-_dono_," a new voice called from the doorway.

Shunsui spun about fast enough that the chin string almost failed to keep his hat in place. "Juushiro!"

"Don't sound so surprised to see me, Kyoraku-_kun_," Juushiro Ukitake replied. He was smiling, but the expression was strained. His wan complexion was even paler than usual, and his long white hair was limp and slick with sweat. He was leaning upon the doorframe, a pose he was trying hard to present as casual, but no one in the room was fooled.

"Captain Ukitake, you should be resting."

"Thank you, Captain Ise, but I'm not too frail to take an evening walk."

_You gallant fool. You look like you ran all the way here with a _Rukongai_ gatekeeper on your back_. "Fresh air is the last thing you'll find here, Juushiro. Honestly, Yama-_ji_, you have enough torches in here to roast a gillian."

Ukitake's expression grew serious despite the jest. "Captain-Commander, I request to join this mission."

Kyoraku frowned. Ukitake was in the Court because he was too exhausted and sickly to leave it, never mind lead his division into battle. Despite his well-known poor health, like the rest of the _Gotei _Thirteen he had lived ten years in constant battle, and his last foray into the living world had nearly spent him. It was only thanks to Michiko Kuchiki – one of the most capable and respected lieutenants in the Thirteen Divisions – easing his burden that he lasted as long as he had. The most fundamental objectives were placing a destructive strain on the divisions, and the risk of infection was one that kept even vigorous _shinigami_ mindful of their health. Less than two weeks ago, Masaki Koda, Kyoraku's own lieutenant, had become the first officer over fifth seat to die of the disease, and his whole division was still numb from that blow. One of the thirteen captains becoming a casualty would be devastating to morale.

After a long moment, the Captain-Commander rumbled his reply. "Request granted."

Someone who had lived less than a millennium might have spoken without thinking, but while Kyoraku did not bother to temper the look he leveled at Yamamoto, he did hold his tongue. In the next instant, eyes narrowing, he began to wonder exactly what they were becoming involved in that would require the attention of the bulk of the divisions' reserve combat strength.

Captain Ise looked just as uneasy, adjusting his spectacles with his left hand while his right cradled his _zanpakuto_. "If that's decided, then I suppose we ought to know what we'll be doing. It's not every day residents of Soul Society receive an invitation to Avalon."

"That's so," Yamamoto agreed. "I have only been there twice myself, though I have worked with the Soulguard several times. They are every bit as disciplined and capable as our own _Gotei_ Thirteen." With a resounding thump, the base of the Captain-Commander's staff struck the floor. On the table, the map of the living world began to distort and shift, reforming its report to show a smaller area in greater detail. "Captains, you will depart for the Transfer Gate tomorrow morning, and the particulars will be given to you when you reach Avalon. However, I can at least show you where your task will ultimately lead you."

His geography was a bit rusty, but it wasn't hard to tell that the place in question was not nearby. And judging by its shade of red on the map, there was only one appropriate thought that came into Shunsui Kyoraku's mind: _Oh, hell_.

**…**

"We should go back," James urged as the sun neared the horizon behind them. "The town is dead."

"Do a few bodies frighten you?" Sir John Chandos asked with just a hint of disdain.

James Audley did not rise to the bait. He was the oldest of their company at thirty-two, and no man could question his bravery, no matter who had held the sword that tapped their shoulders. "No more than they do in every other mud-soaked hovel we pass."

Sir Caylen Dare spurred his horse up beside them. "The road is gloomy enough without your appraisals, James. Surely you can enjoy a twilight ride, even if Sir John does make for foul company."

Audley did not return the young knight's smile. "Foul company, foul country, and foul rumor. You might think God would provide some variety in my life."

"Smile now, Audley," prodded Dare, "I thought our charge was to correct two of those! Sir John's manners may be hopeless, but you should not let them sour you so."

"We move on," Chandos interrupted flatly. "Daylight is scarce, and if there are survivors I do not wish to frighten them with a night approach."

Their horses followed the path up the last hill before their destination. The orange glow of sunset burnished the lions and fleurs-de-lis quartered on the banner that flapped above them, and lit the fields to either side. Most of the men kept one eye on the fallow plain to their left, its tall grasses a ripe opportunity for ambush. Sir Caylen was distracted, however, looking off into the well-grazed pasture to their right, drifting several paces ahead of the company.

The spirits were out this evening. They strode through the field in ones and twos, with a few larger groups as well, following the path from a safe distance. With the sun at their backs, it was difficult to make out the chains, but Caylen didn't have to see those to know. The lack of reaction from the rest of the men was enough.

"Your ride heedless for a man in unfriendly country," Audley taunted.

"I heed my eyes well enough," Dare replied, though the retort was half-hearted. Coming to the crest of the hill he stopped, head panning slowly across the long, low valley before them. His smile was gone.

"So solemn now, Sir Caylen?" Audley prodded, joining him at the top of the rise. In the wide valley beneath them, the outlines of structures could still be distinguished in the fading light. Half a mile distant, the town of Esprit appeared darkened and lifeless... to all but one of them, at least.

Sir Caylen Dare had always seen spirits. As a curious youth, too young to know any better, when he had come across people with chains on their chests walking about with never a word from those around, he talked to them. Listened to them. And he had learned from them as well. The most important lesson, when he was still young enough to be dismissed as a child with an overactive imagination, was the difference between those who did and did not see what he could, and the value of discretion. By the time he was a young man, a squire traveling with the armies of King Edward, that knowledge had become second nature.

There was no shortage of restless souls; not in Britain, certainly not in northern France. Caylen had seen peasants tilling fields with spades that moved no soil, listened to old men shouting in the ears of upstart lords who rambled on heedless. He had watched children grasp at the skirts of blank-eyed mothers, and husbands slump against the doors of darkened homes. He had been harried by the furious shades of men cut down in battle, some at the end of his own blade, and shared jests with friends who had died in his arms.

In all that time, the sight of ghosts had never unsettled him so much as it did now. The valley was awash with souls, more than Caylen had ever seen in any one place before. It was a sea of specters stretched out before him, lining the streets of the town below, rolling in the fading light with the pulse of a coalescing mob.

For the other soldiers not a hint of movement could be seen. "As I said, the town is dead, or fled," Audley asserted. "It and many others. Death has reached across the channel now; we should not be surprised to find it here."

Most of the company would have been quick to agree, and even more eager to leave. Plague had spread north as fast as the tales of its existence, flooding Europe with death and fear. Even the war between France and England had found pause in face of epidemic. The pious among them would call it God's punishment, the pragmatic would call it disease, but no one wished to linger where its cold black gaze had swept.

"No," the disagreement came, but not from Sir Caylen. Sir John did not look quite so somber, but his alertness was apparent. "Something isn't right."

Despite himself, Audley was growing restless. "Of course it's not. Plague spreads on the very wind. From Rome to London death seeks lord and layman alike, and we ride into the heart of a dead town chasing stories of bandits from some stricken peasant's fever dream!"

"Graves," Sir John whispered, half to himself.

"What?" Audley snapped. "Speak sense, sir!"

"There are no graves," Chandos explained. "I see no signs of a pyre, and if the bodies have not been burned they must have been buried. The church has been spreading word to bury all afflicted corpses together and away from any wells and sown fields. Esprit's wells are within the town, and it was the western fields through which we just passed left fallow and grazed. So if it was plague that took this town, where are the graves?"

With a few soft sounds, Sir Caylen coaxed his mount a few paces forward. Sir John's horse was even more reluctant, but he followed suit. The rest of their company, some twenty men, began to whisper amongst themselves. A chill that had nothing to do with the setting of the sun had come over them.

"I mislike this," Chandos muttered to his counterpart, keeping his voice below the hearing of the others.

"I like it no more than you, Sir John, but I like the thought of returning to Prince Edward empty-handed even less." He took one slow breath, his eyes drifting to random points all about them, to his companion appearing to focus on nothing in particular. "If this town was plagued, there would have been graves. Just as surely, if it were attacked by marauders there would be some sign. Corpses, at the least, and the town would likely have been put to the torch."

"And what then leaves a town neither burnt nor buried?" Chandos wondered. "I see not one lit lamp, and not one soul in the streets."

For an instant, Sir Caylen permitted a smile to pass across his face. "Don't be so sure." He paused just briefly enough to keep the statement form worrying Sir John before adding, "Esprit is the largest city for twenty leagues, yet close enough to our garrison at Abbeville that it had no guard of its own to speak of. It would make a tempting target to a countryside filled with broken men from King Edward's campaigns. Since Crécy they have shown no hesitation in attacking their own countrymen, and the plague has made better men than they desperate enough to kill."

"Our charge is to preserve the rule of law in this land, but what is law in the face of such death?"

"A righteous challenge," Sir Caylen said surely. "The world may be coming to an end, but we still have the choice of how to face it."

Chandos frowned in the direction of the village. "My choice would not be to lead two dozen men against what could be a force strong enough to slaughter a town and fortify it against us."

"The runner said naught of a force that large."

"The runner said naught of _sense_. He spun a gruesome tale of fear and murder, but Audley is right; the man was sick, or mad, or both." Two days ago he had reached them at the garrison. Dirty, starved, and more than half-mad, he had cried that death had come to Esprit, among a slew of other senseless ravings. Charged by the King to consolidate England's hold on her new territories across northern France, Prince Edward had sent the two knights and twenty mounted men-at-arms to investigate. With luck, they would garner some goodwill from a conquered peasantry rife with apprehension and fear; at worst, they might better grasp the extent of the plague's northward trek.

"Perhaps. In any case, we can see little from here in this light. Our orders…" Dare trailed off, turning back and forth in his saddle, suddenly alert.

Sir John opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. He cocked his head to one side, as though listening for a sound just beyond his hearing. "What—"

Sir Caylen's eyes were wide and fearful, staring back towards the rest of the company... but not so much at them as above them. He screamed a single word: "RIDE!"

Before the men could even look confused, half of them were dead.

The sickening sound of cracking bones and rent flesh was drowned out by the cries of the survivors, man and horse alike. Not one animal stood its ground. The mounts bolted in primal panic, driven to ignorance of rein and spur even if their riders had wanted to stop them. The two knights' warhorses were the only exceptions, destriers well accustomed to blood and battle. Even so, it was all the men could do to keep them in hand.

"In the name of—" Sir John Chandos never had a chance to finish his curse. He doubled over in his saddle, shaking violently, his eyes wide and vacant. His mouth gaped, struggling for breath. Not even his horse could scream.

Sir Caylen Dare was far worse off. He could still move, could still smell the blood and death. He could still hear the distant shouts of their fleeing companions, and the one howl that overwhelmed them all. It was a hideous, roiling wail of anger, of pain, of _hunger_. He could hear it, clear as day, and every bit as clear as he could see the white-masked beast from whence it came.

.

.

.

.

***A/N* - **To keep the story in flow, this will be the only author's note you'll see, so please forgive me this one interruption. Though you have already seen some changes from the _Bleach_ canon, my aim is not so much an AU fic as an AE fic – one of alternate events, as opposed to a whole new universe. It will be my foremost goal to preserve continuity, whenever possible, with the canon (and if I succeed, I should be in compliance to everything prior to the Turn Back the Pendulum arc). Right next to that on my slate of priorities is, of course, your own entertainment. Reviews, to help me understand what is and is not helping me accomplish that, are very much appreciated.

There will be a significant number of original characters throughout this story, all of my own creation and design, and as much my property as anything else I post on the internet. If you have an open mind, I hope you'll find them to your liking. If you're dubious, stick around for healthy appearances from series favorites such as Ukitake, Kyoraku, Urahara and Yoruichi, along with teasers and cameos by many more (I hope this will be part of a series, after all!) If you have an intractable disdain for OCs of any kind, you may wish to help yourself to the multitude of other fics available here on FFnet, and I thank you for coming this far.

As you might have noticed, I will also be making occasional use of Japanese in the form of _romaji_. I do not know the language beyond what I've picked up watching a few thousand hours of subtitles, though I do try my best when making use of translators and other resources. Most terms you're not already familiar with should come with context. If you're still unsure, don't hesitate to ask me.

Since, as I said, I won't be making further author's notes, I encourage comments and questions to be directed via messages or e-mail, links to both of which you can find in my profile. Feel free to get in touch, and while I can't guarantee responses, timely or otherwise, know that any effort you make is appreciated.

So, please, let me be your host on my personal trek through the brilliant world and characters of Tite Kubo, and all the extra possibilities I can hope to imbue within them! Read, enjoy, and review!


	2. Chapter Two: Currents

**Chapter Two**

**Currents**

The passage to Avalon was deceptively simple for a voyage so few had made. Departing at first light, the actual distance the three captains had traveled was impressive – far west into the wildlands, well beyond even the eightieth district of the _Rukongai_ – but it was not a long journey by _shunpo_, even easing their pace for Ukitake's sake. It was easy to tell when they had reached their destination; the ground simply stopped, dropping away as though they stood on some grass-covered balcony, the blue sky arching over the horizon to disappear below. If that had not been clue enough, a sure sign was the hooded _Kido_ Corps officer standing guard at an unobtrusive wooden doorframe on the edge of the world.

The man was old, and more than a little senile. If Old Man Yamamoto had only made this trip twice in his lifetime, Kyoraku didn't want to know how often this sentry saw his fellow _shinigami_. There was a dirt track worn through the grass from where the sentry stood to a ramshackle cabin in the distance which spoke of a very depressing existence. He never said a word to the captains – at least Shunsui hoped that none of his indecipherable muttering was vitally important – but beckoned them on after directing some of his mumbling at the doorway, which did not change whatsoever.

Shunsui allowed himself a curious glance over the edge, a hand securing his straw hat. Anyone, even a centuries old _shinigami_ captain, would balk at stepping through a doorway into sheer blue sky. With a last doubtful look at the _kido_ officer, who was continuing to shoo them through with impatience, Kyoraku took a deep breath, and then the step. His stomach lurched, like going down a flight of stairs and finding that there was one more step than you had expected, but before any thoughts of how he would spend an eternity tumbling off the end of the world could enter his mind, the ground itself swung upwards to catch his front foot with a jolt. Shaking off the momentary surge of vertigo, Kyoraku found himself in an identical empty doorway, in an equally overgrown wilderness, only now with no one else in sight.

"That was different," he muttered.

Ise and Ukitake followed, one after the other, moments later, and it was Kyoraku's fervent hope that he had not looked quite so wide-eyed when he stepped through. Surprise did not suit him.

"That's strange," said Juushiro. "No one here to meet us?"

With the doorway and the edge of the world behind them, there was even less to see before them. They stood in a small grassy clearing centered on the portal, with the edge of a sparse woodland a few hundred paces in the distance. There were no trails or tracks, or any sign of civilization. Shunsui closed his eyes, opening his mind to traces of _reiatsu_. The spirit threads were there. A few faint white tendrils of common souls were at the edge of their senses here, found among the many more red: the threads of the Soulguard, their _shinigami_ contemporaries here in Avalon. Two of the brightest red traces were coming closer, and fast.

"We have a welcoming committee after all. Here I was, hoping to catch a nap while we waited."

"I'm sad to admit how tempting that is," said Juushiro. His breathing was labored, but still he looked improved over the night before. Shunsui knew it wasn't all for show, either; for a man like Ukitake, there was only so much remedy to be found in a sickbed when he knew his friends would be embarking on a dangerous mission.

With the distinctive _whir_ of flash steps and a blur of motion near the treeline, the _shinigami_ were greeted by a sight that was more than a little unfamiliar. While the three captains wore their traditional black _shihakusho _and white _haori_ as befit their rank, the two greeters striding towards them were solid and distinctive where the captains were flowing and uniform.

The first man was tall, rising half a head above any of the captains, and finely dressed. His clothes were a silvery spectacle, an array of white and grey, from the snowy cloak over one shoulder down to the bleached leather of the scabbard at his hip. Pulled behind an open, youthful face was a ponytail of hair that Kyoraku imagined some poet would term the color of spun moonlight. It was neither Ise's aged grey nor Ukitake's pure white, in any case.

The second man was about Juushiro's height. He had a rugged face and an outfit to match, a well-worn collection of drab browns and grey-green. His dark hair, with a matching mustache and thin pointed beard, had a windswept look, and complemented his copper complexion.

The feature most notable to the _shinigami_, however, was not their clothing – trousers and boots were uncommon in Soul Society, though not unheard of – but what the men were wearing on top of it. Whether it was the chest of gleaming white scales or the coat of oily metal rings, the _shinigami_ were not accustomed to armor.

"Captains, welcome." The dark-clad of the pair was the first to greet them. "I am Sir Konway Blackallen, and this is my sworn brother, Sir Tamison Silverrose."

The two knights bowed, and the three _shinigami_ returned the gesture in their more formal, eastern fashion. Their senior member provided the introductions. "I'm the Captain of Twelfth Division, Kijuro Ise, this is Thirteenth Division Captain Juushiro Ukitake, and to my right is Eighth Division Captain Shunsui Kyoraku. And Sir Konway," Ise added, "your Japanese is excellent."

Blackallen inclined his head. "My thanks, captain, though I can't take all the credit." He looked up at the small black insect hovering over his shoulder. "I've had our hell butterflies modified to serve as translators." Seemingly from nowhere, three new _jigokucho_ fluttered down to assume a spot above each of the _shinigami_, a not unpleasant hum entering the backs of their minds to assert the connection.

"My sworn brother is too modest," said Silverrose. "He could praise your arrival in half a hundred languages, and sweep a maiden off her feet in a hundred more."

"As our colleagues might guess, I leave most of the sweeping to you, Sir Tamison."

The silver-haired knight shrugged with an easy smile. "We each have escapades to bore our new friends with, of course."

"It's an honor to be greeted as friends," said Ukitake. "We're here to help however we can."

"Your aid would be most welcome, captain. We realize the sacrifice the _shinigami_ are making just by allowing you to hear us out."

Kyoraku eyed Sir Konway closely at the comment. Ol' Yama had presented their assignment as one already established, not a proposal to be received. That could mean the Soulguard were simply trying to be gracious… or that Yama-_ji _had been indicating which course of action they should take with whatever plan Avalon was hatching. The old man was crafty that way.

"We know that duty calls, most of all in these dark days, but we hope to be good hosts while you're with us," said Sir Tamison. "After all, before you ask large favors it's good to repay the small ones."

"Oh? How do you mean?" Juushiro asked. The histories of the afterlife regions were long, distinguished, and rarely intertwined. They shared a mission and the trappings of the spirit world, but little else. Laws and customs were unique to each, and one of the few shared traditions was their independence from one another. There weren't even friendly rivalries, the great commonality amongst competing martial orders. For all that, it wasn't strange to wonder when even a small favor had been rendered.

"We have an example to live up to, after our good Sir Konway visited your Soul Society ten years past."

The three captains shared a look. "We didn't know that," Captain Ise admitted.

"It was a brief stay, and unofficial," Blackallen explained, waving the comment away. "The Captain-Commander provided a tour of your academy, as I was hoping to establish something similar in Avalon. It was just before the plague began. That, among… other recent events, has hindered our progress."

"Which brings us to why you're here."

"Yes, of course," said Blackallen. "Please, follow me. It will be better to explain everything once we've returned to the city."

**...**

Dawn had never been so long in coming. First light was breaking over the town of Esprit, but it was not the sun's rays piercing the uneven boards of the loft that had woken Caylen. He had found no need for sleep, not with the disquieting parade of souls he had witnessed through the streets outside the stable in which he'd hidden. All night they had gathered, some silently, others talking, but all moving, always moving through the town.

If that had not been enough to keep him awake, he would not soon forget the beast. Sir Caylen Dare had always seen spirits, but he had never seen anything like the monster from which he had fled the night before. Its bloated green body had crushed a dozen men and horses underneath. That skeletal mask would have been frightening all on its own, but the predatory eyes glowing behind it had gleamed at the sight of the souls of his fallen companions. When its grotesque tongue had emerged to ensnare the first screaming essence, Caylen had spurred his horse and ran.

He didn't remember grabbing the reins of Sir John's mount, but there it had been, matching his stride for stride. Chandos was senseless, but as they fled the convulsions that had threatened to throw him from the saddle subsided. Caylen had felt something as well; a dull pressure, a weight upon his whole body which slowly lifted.

When he had been sure the fiend was not chasing them, he guided the horses into the stable of an inn on the edge of town. The mounts had been restless, but he'd soothed them as best he could before hobbling them and carrying Sir John to the hayloft, where the two knights had spent the hours of darkness, one insensate, the other slowly recollecting himself from shock. Not even in the fury of battle, surrounded by a thousand men and swords and screams, could Sir Caylen remember ever being so afraid.

He had not seen another living thing throughout the night; not so much as a rat, nor even fleas among the straw. Without setting foot outside the stable, Caylen knew the town was well and truly dead. If not for the rumbling breaths of the horses below and the few snippets of conversation from the souls outside, the silence would have been maddening.

A few of the ghosts had passed through the stable during the night – quite literally, walking in through one wall and out another – and some had even given Caylen odd looks when they noticed that he was watching, but not until now did any of them stop. An older man with a haggard face came up short at the horses. He hesitated, then raised a hand to stroke the mane of Sir Caylen's destrier. The animal showed no sign of noticing, but even so, a small, wistful smile came over the man's face as he brushed the animal's dark brown coat.

On a whim, Caylen said softly, "His name is Thunder."

The man gave a start, his eyes widening as he looked up to the loft. "_Vous pouvez me voir_?" When Caylen sat up, the light caught his armor, and the man's shock was replaced by something else. He dropped to one knee. "_D__é__sol__é__, monsieur_." Even in death, old habits died hard.

"_Son nom est Tonnerre_," Caylen repeated, switching languages. "Stand up, please." The man rose hesitantly to his feet, but would only meet Sir Caylen's eyes in glances. "That is my horse's name, and mine is Sir Caylen Dare. What is yours?"

"Jacques, if it please you, sir."

"Are you fond of horses, Jacques?"

A small part of the wistful smile returned. "I helped tend the stables in Angers, sir, until the plague came."

The city was more than a week's ride from Abbeville, and dead or alive walking half the breadth of France was not a light undertaking. "What brings you all the way to Esprit, Jacques?"

The old man seemed to tense. "I can't really say. None of us knows why, sir. Just a kind of feeling. But sir," – and here he looked up – "begging your pardon, but you shouldn't be here, sir."

"No, Jacques, we probably shouldn't," Caylen agreed. "When—" he was cut off by the sound of a groan. Sir John was stirring behind him.

"He doesn't know you can see us, does he, sir?" Jacques asked. Caylen shook his head. "Sir, I don't think you should stay. It's not safe here, not even for you." With one last sad look at the horses, the old man left.

"Where are we?" Chandos asked groggily, struggling to sit up in his armor. He was clad in partial plate, his large frame suited to the segments of heavy armor. In the panic of the night before, Caylen had not bothered to remove it, indeed had hardly even noticed it when lifting the other man into the loft.

"A stable on the edge of town," Caylen replied. "It's morning."

"Who were you talking to? I heard your voice."

"You dreamt, sir. I've seen no one else since last night."

"Odd. I would have sworn I heard…" he trailed off, and then Sir John's eyes snapped open, and he was entirely awake. "The men!"

"Some were killed. We were separated from the rest, who fled away from the town."

"What happened? I don't… All I remember…" Chandos' face was twisted in confusion. "There was…"

"It was hard to tell in the darkness," said Dare. "We were all taken by surprise. With any luck a few of the others will be back in Abbeville by now."

Sir John did not seem satisfied, but Caylen did not want to let him linger on questions for which he had no answers. "There was no movement in the night as best I could tell." Caylen dropped from the edge of the loft, landing with a jingle from his coat of light ringmail. "We should investigate the city."

Chandos' brow furrowed. "You don't think we should return to the garrison?"

Caylen shook his head. "Traveling in an armed party is one thing, but two knights alone would make a tempting target, even in daylight, and our attackers may still be near the roads. And even if none of the others made it back to the prince, he will not be long in coming if we fail to report. We should find out what has happened here as best we can before he arrives."

Sir John considered that for a long moment while he elected to take the ladder down from the alcove. "You don't think those who attacked us followed into the town?"

"I kept close watch all night. There was no sign of pursuit." The monster had been too intent on its grisly feast for that.

At length, Sir John exhaled and nodded. "Perhaps they were as wary of the town as we. And if they were not responsible, that is all the more reason to see what has happened here."

Limbering the horses, the knights led them outside the stable on foot before mounting. They made their way cautiously into the street, readiness to make a quick escape tempered by what was in one case apprehension at the emptiness of Esprit, and in the other the lack thereof. It was everything Caylen could do to keep up his appearance, knowing that in his companion's eyes they should have been two men alone, investigating a dead town. In truth, he was still as much unnerved by his prescience of so many ghosts as he had been by the sight of the beast, and showing signs of either would have raised uncomfortable questions that Caylen had worked his entire life to avoid.

In crowded castle barracks and training yards, or the noise and press of a camped army, it was not hard to ignore what only he could see. Keeping a calm eye for the unexpected incorporeal face peering into your tent wasn't so hard with practice, and so long as you checked to make sure the man sitting next to you on the bench as your broke your fast was actually there, it was not so hard to avoid suspicion. Cultivating an image of mild eccentricity to cover the unavoidable mistakes and lapses was the real trick, but finding the right places for wit and some self-deprecating jests had been a skill to come over time. And as tiring as that game could be, Caylen knew it was what afforded him the life he lived.

But if dealing with the crowds of his fellow soldiers had been difficult, dealing with a crowd of ghosts was daunting. His every instinct and intuition demanded to know what was going on, and he found himself unable to even contemplate what to ask the shades if he got the chance.

"Sir Caylen?"

Blinking, Dare brought himself back to the living. "Yes?"

Sir John was eyeing him closely, though with concern, not suspicion. "You seem distracted."

Caylen affected an appropriately weary smile. "My apologies. I should not have grown so used to a full night's sleep over these past months."

Chandos made a sympathetic noise. "I suppose we all grew somewhat lax after Calais." The port city had fallen to King Edward's siege after close to a year, and with it had come a sense of surety they had not known for years. Fresh troops and supplies had arrived in a steady stream from England, and the war with France – whose resistance had been nominal since that day on the muddy fields of Crécy – had taken on a an air of inevitable victory, a dangerous thing for a standing army to adopt.

"If nothing else, I suppose this little mystery will buy the prince a few more weeks of drills."

"Something to look… forward to," Sir John's voice trailed off, a light tug on the reins halting his mount.

Caylen tried to follow his gaze, but whatever his fellow knight had seen was masked from his view by the souls. His eyes unblinking, he hoped to catch a glimpse – there! On the ground, against the door of a small house, was the first sign of something neither living nor undead: a body.

Without a word, the knights rode forward. Caylen, lighter in the saddle, dismounted to examine the corpse. It was slumped awkwardly, face-first against the door. There was no obvious injury on the back, but when Caylen turned the man's stiff form over, it revealed a blank-eyed face frozen in surprise or pain. The body was modestly dressed – a common merchant, most like. Whatever had killed him had done so suddenly, and without apparent injury.

Dare and Chandos shared a look. They were at the end of a small side-street, where it connected to the main road into town. With a click of his tongue, Sir John began to trot farther along. Caylen spared the corpse one last look, but just as he was about to turn back, he stopped, eyes narrowed. A thorough fear of the plague did not mean that he had not seen it up close, and kneeling beside the body, he noticed several odd signs. Nothing about this man's death – the pose of the body, the location, the condition of his clothes – indicated sickness, even one so swiftly mortal as the plague. But there on his skin were the first hints of the telltale sores and black splotches. Had the man been sick when he was killed by something else, his body revealing the first symptoms only in death? Even more disturbed than before, Caylen left the strange corpse before Sir John could get too far ahead, leading his horse to catch up on foot. The expression on his fellow knight's face as he sat at the corner of the main street was all Sir Caylen needed to know, but he looked all the same.

As news of the plague reached communities, two courses of action were available to the people. In many cases, they fled to the countryside, secluding themselves in the farms or woodlands, in essence hiding from the disease. Those who were left in the cities took the opposite course, huddling closer together, for prayer or safety or whatever comfort they could find. The knights had come upon the new edge of the town, the place where people had still lived not so long ago.

"We must find some way to return to Abbeville alive," Sir John Chandos said, his voice little more than a growl. "Prince Edward will have two thousand men here within a week to root justice from this slaughter. By God I swear, we will not stand for this!" Esprit had not been killed by disease, and it had not been burned, but it was ruined and dead all the same. Dislodged cobblestones and other debris lined the street, along with the glass of a few shattered windows. An overturned water barrel left a muddy stain nearby, and a stack of boxes of vegetables had been toppled next to it. Doors and shutters, benches and carts, all sat askew. But in spite of all that, Caylen was confused by the scene, not angered. He had come upon scenes of massacre before, and as a soldier of an invading army was no stranger to their process. People ran from danger; they always had, and always would, but these people had fallen where they stood. Taken by such utter surprise and with such swiftness that Caylen could see what each man, woman, and child had been doing when they fell. There were some signs of commotion – a few groups which had huddled for protection, a few men with weapons – but not enough. Not even if a mounted party had ambushed the town from every direction at once could this sight have come about. To Caylen's mind, however, there was a potential explanation: the people of Esprit had never seen what killed them.

Knowing more than he should have, Dare did not trust himself to speak. He let his companion simmer in his own perceptions, while Caylen himself tried to process what had gone on here. Whatever signs to the contrary, the plague could not have killed these people so instantly. And while the monster may have taken the townsfolk by surprise, just as it had their party, the townsfolk would have scattered just as quickly as the men-at-arms had the night before at the first sign of danger. There was no sign of that.

Before he could speculate further, a restless murmur began to come from a group of souls who had been idling in curiosity around the two knights. An uneasy rustle of anxious whispers and other sounds just beyond hearing had made its way to them, setting the hairs on the back of Caylen's neck to standing. He looked for some sign or cause.

He did not have to search long before he heard it. A frighteningly familiar wail rolled through the street, and as one the spirits looked to the sky.

Sir John, scowling, twisted about in his saddle. "What devilry is this? Show yourselves, cowards!"

"Ride!" Caylen yelled. "Head for the town square!"

Chandos did not need much convincing, but when the building next to them collapsed in a thunderous crash he had more than enough, and his destrier took off in a storm of hoof beats. When his own mount bolted at the sudden tumult, Caylen was very nearly left behind. With one foot in a stirrup and a frenzied grip on the reins, he managed to drag himself into the saddle, not far behind Chandos and gaining fast. The souls were every bit as panicked as the knights, turning to flee through the streets, their screams as human to Caylen as they were silent to Sir John. One knight ignorant of the ephemeral obstacles, the other knowing that his horse could not trample what it could not touch, both were charging hard as they neared the town square. The spirits here were close enough to have heard the commotion, but far enough to not yet be fleeing. Dead or not, the sight of the two warhorses stampeding neck-and-neck was enough to set them scrambling aside, clearing a path through the throng.

Caylen blinked, and she was there.

He saw only the glimpse of blonde hair and a white cloak before instinct took over, and he pulled back hard on the reins. His destrier screamed in protest, dipping its haunches as its shoes scraped for purchase on the stone path. Sir John glanced back in alarm, and in the moment his eyes returned to the road, his body eclipsed a bright white flash. The elder knight went rigid in the saddle, his mount slowing to a canter, and finally a trot, which took it straight through the woman standing in the very center of the road.

Caylen saw her body tense with the slightest of motions, and in the next instant she was mere feet away, one arm outstretched, palm flat towards him. He jumped, a rather un-knightly yelp of surprise escaping his throat.

The woman paused, her arm shifting to one side, giving him a better look at her, and she of him. "You can see me?"

Not sure of his voice, he nodded. And indeed he could see her now, her pure white cloak standing out even in the morning light. She was slim beneath that cloak, with dark pants, a tunic of blue linen, and light leather boots and belt. Her face was comely in spite of its most prominent feature: a jagged scar ran from beneath her right eye and across her nose, all the way round her left cheek to disappear into the soft golden hair that hung down to her shoulders.

That face was frowning now. "Black blazes, a feyseer is the last thing I need."

Caylen was in no fit state to reply, but was spared the effort at the sound of another terrific roar from behind. A look at Sir John showed him sitting limp in the saddle, helpless. Caylen wheeled his horse about to find the same fiend from the night before. Seeing it now in the light of day, it was some monstrous parody of a frog, advancing on them with lumbering hops. A pink tongue lashed out as they watched, narrowly missing a soul as it fled around the corner of a building.

The young woman took a step forward.

The beast seemed to pause in response. With a low rumbling croak its eyes shifted towards her, appraising her with beastly menace. As if in challenge, it reared back, a scream even louder than before washing over Caylen. He felt the pressure again, a weight like heavy armor pushing him down. Some small part of his brain as yet unoccupied wondered at how the woman showed no sign of feeling it.

From askance, Caylen would have sworn he saw her smile as the monster's roar faded away. Her lips began to move in a soundless whisper. Eyes fluttering shut, she raised an arm parallel to the ground, fingers dangling from a slack wrist. A soft glow began to gather, faint but unmistakable, about her outstretched hand.

Whatever animal malice drove the beast told it to strike in that instant. Its pink tongue, thick as a tree trunk, shot out like a bolt from a ballista, heading straight for the woman. Caylen did not even have time to call out a warning.

Nor did he need to.

Her eyes flashed open, and with a single sharp gesture, a crescent of light leapt forth, consuming the distance between she and the creature in less than a heartbeat. With a keening sound, it sliced straight through the creature, bisecting it from the tip of its tongue all the way to its stub of a tail. The burst of light faded into the air as quick as it had appeared.

The monster went limp, its front legs sliding forward as its body collapsed, the bifurcated tongue falling to the ground with a thud. With a faint sizzle, it began to burn away, the bulbous form disappearing in discolored tears of flame. Within seconds, it was gone without a trace.

Dare tore his eyes from the spot of the creature's demise. He noted the tentative reappearances of the ghosts, who had scattered in fear only moments ago, to take in the sight of their white-cloaked savior. The young woman had appeared in the midst of the sea of shades, moved faster than his eyes could perceive, and been ridden through as easily as air by Sir John, all with no shackle to be found upon her chest. Caylen had no name for the chainless reapers, but he had seen them from time to time, guiding souls to the afterlife with a tap from the pommel of their swords. Unlike other spirits, though, he had never spoken with them, and had never seen them pay much mind to the living, regarding them, if they did at all, as some kind of unavoidable nuisance.

Hands on her hips, the woman turned from the sight of her victory, an unsmiling look of satisfaction on the flawed beauty of her face. When her eyes found him staring, the look soured. "You have no idea what you're in the middle of, little knight."


	3. Chapter Three: Unrest

**Chapter Three**

**Unrest**

The trip across the countryside was markedly shorter than the journey through the wilderness of Soul Society had been, though the scenery was much the same. The captains made good time – if their Soulguard colleagues were encumbered at all by their armament, they showed no sign – but if Kyoraku had been expecting a European copy of the _Rukongai_, he was let down. It wasn't strange to assume that many principles were shared between Soulguard and _shinigami_, who served identical functions on their respective sides of the globe. But that only made Avalon an even greater disappointment.

The Town of Wandering Spirits Shunsui knew was a metropolis, sprawled about the _Seireitei _at its center in ordered blocks of well-kept homes. The outlying districts, with their flood of refugees, had begun to lose some of that air of permanence, but the meanest alleys of _Inuzuri_ were nothing compared to the jumbled compression of chaos before him now. Dirt paths ran between dug-out hovels and shelters of unmortared rock, with tumbledown shacks and thatch cottages scattered throughout. In the distance, a few wooden lodges were the first structures that appeared able to withstand more than a stiff breeze, and beyond those could be seen some sturdier buildings, shingled-roof structures of stone and lumber sometimes two stories tall.

If a divine hand were to reach down and scoop away the second through seventy-ninth districts of the _Rukongai_ and pack what was left a half-mile deep along a misty lake, such would be Avalon.

Konway and Tamison stopped them at the city's edge. Here there were souls with only the meanest of shelter, patchwork tents and boards propped up by stumps, their occupants sitting in the dirt. Some passersby stopped to take note of the new arrivals, with looks that ranged from insolence to emptiness, and some of curiosity towards the _shinigami_. Between the press of bodies and the city proper was a row of awnings, which as they approached revealed the look of hurried construction. Packed underneath were wooden booths with long lines of people stringing from them, and it was towards these that the two knights led them. What few bedraggled blades of grass remained in the narrow path were trampled into the mud, which had Kyoraku wishing for something more than the thin straw _waraji_ wrapped about his feet.

The air was heavy with tension, and it was growing worse as they neared the awnings. When the sounds of an argument arose nearby, they stood aside for two men in blue uniforms and cloaks with high starched collars who ran to quell the commotion, swords rattling at their sides. Shunsui would be the last person to speak against the degree of decoration the western style of dress allowed, but he was glad for the simplicity of the katana, scabbard, and _obi_ sash. All that clatter would give him a headache.

"Second Company has been transferred to peacekeeping it seems," Tamison observed. "And Redolan is using his knights instead of foot soldiers."

"We should have done that weeks ago," Konway replied. Shunsui noticed with unease that both men were keeping hands conspicuously close to their weapons.

"Why do you say that?" Juushiro wondered.

Blackallen's expression was chagrined. "The bulk of our forces are volunteers and conscripts with minimal training, little better than militia," he explained.

"Little better than the poor souls sitting in the mud all around us, more like," Tamison amended. "Putting them in position to keep order among the new arrivals is asking for trouble."

Ukitake sighed. "We've faced similar problems. Some of our divisions have been given comparable duty for some time now."

"What we wouldn't give for companies full of soldiers trained half so well as yours," said Blackallen, a hint of resignation in his voice. "As it is, many of those we take on do not even have spiritual powers."

Captain Ise frowned. "How do you utilize such troops?"

"They are given a basic weapon if they are unable to provide their own," Sir Konway explained. "Perhaps one in five is spiritually potent enough to manifest and wield a blank weapon, what I believe you call an _asauchi_. While all are capable of performing soul burials, even the weakest hollows are more than a match for our rank and file."

"Doesn't that make them easy targets?" inquired Shunsui.

"There is some strength in numbers, but generally, yes," Sir Tamison replied. "We have little choice. The plague spreading through the living world is claiming lives faster than we can bring the souls here, and when they arrive we are hard pressed to keep them away from each others' throats."

The point was emphasized as they reached the awnings. Within the wooden cubicles from which the tangled lines of souls stretched were weary-looking officials seated behind thick ledgers. They were interviewing the spirits, scribbling away into the books. Many of the interviewees within earshot were agitated.

"…three weeks and no sign of my wife…" "…a seamstress from Marseilles, I heard it was terrible there…" "…not long before me, are you sure you don't see their names?" "…last thing I need to hear is how sorry you are!" The last voice rose above the rest, and was growing louder.

"Two sons dead from war, two daughters from plague, and I get here to find that no one can tell me where any of them are!" Two booths to their right, a great bull of a man had risen to his feet, yelling at a clerk who looked as much exhausted as afraid. "And this after I'm chased from my shop by some fool waving a sword, shouting that it's my time to go to the afterlife!"

Shunsui looked around. There were no blue-cloaked officers in sight this time, and the man was still yelling. "If heaven for me is mud and misery without my family, I'd rather be back in my smithy keeping looters and thieves away from my life's work!" The man grabbed a fistful of the clerk's tunic and dragged him to his feet, toppling the small desk between them and dumping the ledger into the muck.

In Kyoraku's eyes the world shifted to a frozen haze for an instant, and the distance between he and the conflict disappeared in a flash. "Now, now, there's no need for violence," he said, placing a hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. The man dropped the beleaguered clerk in a heap and rounded on Shunsui. The captain allowed his hand to be brushed off.

The man was as tall as Shunsui, and while his whole body was sturdy, his right arm was thick as a tree trunk. He looked the _shinigami_ up and down, and Kyoraku's strange appearance – especially the pink flowered _haori_ – seemed to give the other man pause. "Who're you?"

"Just a visitor," Shunsui replied, thankful for the _jigokucho_ fluttering nearby supplying the words he needed as fast as he could think of them. "Though it's easy see you're a man with more troubles than he deserves."

The blacksmith considered that, eyes narrowed. It was hard to stay mad in the face of an outfit he could only assume was part of a drama troupe. "I just want to know why I'm here."

"It might not seem like it now, but it's better than the alternative." The captain smiled. "Better to be chased by a fool waving a sword's hilt at you than the other end, _ne_?"

When the other man threatened to smile, Kyoraku knew it was safe to take his leave. Walking away, he heard the blacksmith mutter an apology as he helped the clerk to his feet.

"You do have a way with people," Kijuro chuckled.

"Do I? Usually I get punched in the face for stepping in between fights."

"No, you get slapped for standing in arm's reach of women," Juushiro corrected him, smiling.

"It would seem some of our soldiers are lacking a sense of delicacy in their duties," said Tamison. "That blacksmith is not the first soul guided here confused and afraid."

"Nor will he be the last," Konway added. "At this point I'll content myself with them getting here at all, and look to improve from there."

They passed through the crowds and into the city proper. They found their way with no further trouble, and while more than a few of the souls stopped to take note, mixing deferential bows to the Soulguard knights with inquisitive glances at the three _shinigami_, most of those they passed seemed resigned to going about their business. The streets were busy, but strangely subdued.

"There aren't as many souls here as I expected," Ukitake observed. "Are there more settlements like this one?"

"There are other cities, but none quite like this one," replied Tamison, smiling just so.

The further they walked, the better the conditions became, and the city took on a sense of establishment. The knights took them down one of the more affluent-looking streets, past shops and homes and a great many crowded taverns and inns. The only difficulty of the trek was found in the large number of horses. The animals were everywhere; tethered near the buildings, being ridden through the streets, pulling carriages and carts. The party escaped without being trampled, arriving at a small pier on the edge of the lake. The townsfolk appeared to be giving the water's edge a wide berth.

Both Soulguard turned towards the lake, drawing their swords as they reached the end of the pier. In unison they dipped the points of their blades in the clear blue water. Before sheathing again, each cleaned his steel with a square of white woolen cloth. Shunsui took note of the different patches on each: a silver flower on Tamison's, and on Konway's, a single black chevron.

Seconds later, a shape began to emerge from the nearby mist. Shunsui blinked, tipping his straw hat backwards. He hadn't thought the haze over the lake looked quite that thick. Regardless, the approaching figure had a style Kyoraku could only appreciate, clad in full plate armor that gleamed in the sunlight, with a tall visored helm that sprouted two even taller white enameled wings. He was standing on a wide and shallow raft being pulled by no less than a live swan, which wore a barding of flowers.

"When we get back to Soul Society, remind me to get one of those," Kyoraku muttered to Ukitake, grinning.

The raft drifted to a stop in front of the quay, and the man on board faced them with a wide stance, his gauntleted hands resting upon the pommel of an unsheathed greatsword that rose all the way to the middle of his chest. "Who goes to Avalon?" a deep voice rumbled from within the helm.

"Stand aside, Lohengrin, you great tin lout." Tamison cuffed the armored figure upside the head. The man stumbled to one side with the playful blow, and Tamison hopped aboard. "Make room for our guests."

With a metallic clank, the boatman pushed up his visor. Behind it was a wizened face bearing guileless blue eyes and a bushy white mustache. "Sorry, m'lord, it's orders an' all. The other Knight-Captains said I was bein' too friendly."

Blackallen patted the man on the shoulder as he joined Tamison aboard the raft. "Pay them no mind, Lohengrin. You're doing fine work."

The corners of the man's mustache arched upwards with pride. "Thank'ee, sir. From you that means a lot, sir."

Taking the cue, the three _shinigami_ joined the others on the raft, which felt far more stable that it looked. With an undignified honk, the swan began tugging them away from the pier and into the mist. It soon grew so thick that Shunsui could barely make out Ukitake right beside him, but in spite of the haze it was almost painfully bright. The discomfort did not last long, however, and the air began to clear.

Even before the fog had fully lifted, Kyoraku was ready to take back every unflattering thought he'd had since they set foot in the city.

Towering above their little raft were walls of sheer smooth stone, hard and grey, yet glittering in the sunlight from the moisture of the fog. Patches of lichen adorned the stones at the edge of the lake, with a few creeping vines and even some thin bushes emerging from weatherworn crags. The tranquil sound of water lapping against the rock was supplanted by the long clear note of a horn. Its hail faded into the mist, only to be replaced by the creaking of metal above and a deep bass rumble from below. Four great chains resting against the walls of the citadel began to rise, scraping against the stone as they dredged up moss and lichen. Two of the chains pulled away from the rocks, growing taut as a rain of droplets fell from the rusty metal links. Through the clear blue water, the outline of a huge wooden platform rose up beneath them, each of its corners attached to one of the chains. Their raft stopped with a sudden jerk, and Shunsui felt them begin to rise up even as he noticed the immense iron tracks set into the stone walls which the drawbridge was being raised along, towards a portcullis set high up the wall. Its colossal bars began to ascend as they neared. With a last great rumble they came to a stop, the gates standing open to reveal smooth streets beyond, shining in the morning sun.

"Gentlemen," Tamison said, beaming, "welcome to Avalon."

**…**

It was not a large meeting, as such things went. It took place during the day, for the sake of convenience as well as appearance, at one of _Junrinan_'s more upscale parlors. They had procured a set of suites, sparing no expense, turning one of the sitting areas over into a makeshift conference room. There were four of them inside, though each had left no less than five guards on the other side of the rice paper door. It was not that they didn't trust each other; in fact they were all friends, or at the least long-standing acquaintances. It was a matter of prestige, though one or two might have convinced themselves of the need for protection under the circumstances. It wasn't every day, after all, that one met to conspire against the _Seireitei_.

"My friends, before we begin, I feel we must be clear on our purpose here." The first of them to speak was a greybeard with drooping mustachios, and he spoke with quiet dignity.

"Miyozi_-san_, your prudence is understandable," the second, a man middle-aged and clean shaven with an easy smile and narrowed eyes, said amiably, "but I believe the failures of the Court, both the Central Forty-Six Chambers and their thugs, speak for themselves."

"I'll ask you not to refer to the _Gotei_ Thirteen as 'thugs,' Ochida-_san_," the lone woman among them, blonde-haired and regally postured, said sharply. "Even if my son were not counted among them, I have worked too long with the Court to abide idle slander."

"My apologies, Hirako-_sama_," Ochida replied, his voice casual and his expression unchanged.

"You shouldn't be so dismissive of the _shinigami_, Hiromi-_kun_," the last of their number, a reedy young man in a baggy kimono, offered. "They may not be living up to their mission, but it isn't their effort we should be questioning."

Ochida made an effort not to bristle at the other man's familiarity. "Akata -_san_, they flood our streets with beggars and lepers, pleading for our patience for more than a decade, while they cannot keep even their own soldiers alive. One of the lieutenants died of the plague not long ago, and my sources tell me that even a captain has fallen ill!"

"Stop trying to incite us," Hirako snapped, clearly annoyed. "Ukitake-_taicho_ has been ill for longer than any of us has even been here."

Ochida set his jaw. "My point remains. Even the members of the Thirteen Divisions are not safe, and yet they bring more potential sources of the plague to us, by the thousands every day."

"And they give us three of their divisions to keep our afflicted fellows contained," Miyozi pointed out, two fingers idly tugging at an end of his mustache.

Hiromi guffawed. "They observe them for a few days to see if any come down with the sniffles, then throw them in with the rest of us. Don't make me remind you of all the cases of plague that have shown up, even here in the First District, despite their so-called quarantine."

"What more do you want them to do?"

"That's simple, Akata_-san_," Ochida replied. "Stop bringing all these infested souls to Soul Society."

"You must be joking." The Lady Hirako's sneer of disbelief brought an unfortunate array of teeth to light, and her willingness to use the expression showed just how ludicrous the very idea struck her to be. "Guiding the deceased to Soul Society is why the _shinigami_ are here!"

"And the living world is dangerous!" Akata added, eyes wide and shuddering. "There are hollows, even menos everywhere! You want them to leave all those souls in a place like that?"

"Every spirit left on its own in the living world risks becoming a hollow itself, as well," Miyozi agreed, with all the anxiety of a comment on the weather. "And years from now, when they can no longer get their fill, where do you think they'll come to feed?"

"Far-sighted as ever, Koi, my old friend," said Hirako, "but perhaps we should keep our considerations within the current century."

"A century none of us may live through, if the _Gotei_ Thirteen allow the plague to spread here any more than it already has," Ochida interjected. "I realize how mad I must sound to even suggest this, but we have given the Court ten years to deal with this crisis on their terms. Which one of you is going to convince me that things have gotten better over that time?"

The room was given over to an uneasy silence. Ochida allowed it to stretch to the point of discomfort before continuing. "The Central Forty-Six did not grant us an audience. The _shinigami_ outside the walls of the Court have no authority to help us, even if they would hear us out. We need to take matters into our own hands."

Miyozi's mustachios drooped further with his frown. "We may hear drunken fools boasting of taking on Soul Reapers all the time, but really, Ochida, I thought you had more sense."

Hiromi's face pinched in annoyance as he waved the comment away. "I'm not suggesting we fight the _shinigami_. We don't have to."

Hirako's teeth made another appearance as she glowered. "Then what are you suggesting?"

"The only way the divisions are capable of bringing so many souls here is through the three World Penetration Gates they've set up in _Rukongai_. Close them, and the flow of souls to this world will cease."

"What about the _Senkaimon_ within the Court?" Akata asked. "You don't think—"

"Even if it could handle that volume of traffic alone, the _Gotei_ Thirteen won't risk bringing thousands of plague-ridden souls through their precious _Seireitei_ every day."

"I assume you haven't forgotten that each of the three gates out here has a whole division to go with it?" Miyozi probed. As Ochida provided his answers, the older man was beginning to sound intrigued.

"I've seen the gates. They're all chaos, new souls arriving, being registered and examined for symptoms, with reapers constantly trying to keep the sick ones on the outskirts of the _Rukongai_. Noise, confusion, crowds and filth, it's all we need."

"We wouldn't have to fight the _shinigami_?" Akata wondered, tremulous but hopeful.

"No one should have to raise a sword against them," Ochida assured him.

"You have a point," Hirako admitted, though she still sounded reluctant. "It may not show here in _Junrinan_, but the districts further from the Court are becoming less and less ordered."

"Just one more sign that this crisis is too much for the _shinigami_," said Ochida. "Souls with no more than the clothes on their backs are left to fend for themselves on the edge of _Rukongai_, or try to sneak in as vagrants. Is a life of killing and stealing to survive here so much worse than what they face in the living world?"

"It's a cruel choice, either way," Miyozi opined. "But to weigh their fates against those of all the wandering spirits here…"

"There is no alternative," Ochida offered, solemn and resolved. "If we do not act, disease and lawlessness will destroy the _Rukongai_, maybe even the _Seireitei_ itself."

"You're right, Hiromi-_kun_," Akata said. "This may be the best way for us to help the _shinigami_, in the end."

The last to acquiesce was Hirako. Her gaze at Ochida was long and pointed before she spoke. "Very well, then. What do you propose?"


	4. Chapter Four: Vigilance

**Chapter Four**

**Vigilance**

Setting foot upon the pristine stone of Avalon's gateway square, for the first time Shunsui Kyoraku could feel the power of this place. It worried him.

Even in the furthest reaches of Soul Society, the presence of the _Gotei _Thirteen could always be felt, a beacon of energy and strength whose aura reached outwards even where the _Seireitei_'s spires fell far below the horizon. Some of that was pure mystique, of course, more perceived than real, but every soul there felt it, believed it, and gave it meaning.

The Soulguard had strength that could not be denied; Kyoraku needed look no farther than the two men standing with the captains to know that. Even so, unease had burrowed into the back of his mind ever since stepping through the transfer gate that morning, and it had only grown. The presence of this place had not reassured him… quite the opposite, in fact. There was something very wrong here, an agitation altogether different from the unrest they had witnessed in the lakeside town.

For their part, Sir Konway and Sir Tamison looked honestly at ease for the first time, and for all his misgivings, Shunsui knew why. Avalon truly was a wondrous place. White stone and marble stretched as far as the eye could see, paving the streets between shops and stables, homes and hostels, tanneries and towers. The people were lively and bustling as only commoners could be. Merchants were crying out from the corner booths, performers were bellowing boisterous songs for cheering crowds, and there was the high ring of laughter from children playing in the streets. Everywhere the sights and sounds and smells of life prevailed.

Shunsui could only wish he knew why it all felt like an act.

"We will be going to the Towers of the Seven, hearth and home of the companies of the Soulguard," Sir Konway said. "In better times we would offer to show you the city, but we are expected by the Lord Commander."

"Not someone you keep waiting, I suppose," Shunsui sympathized. "We know the feeling."

"Please, follow me. And stay close, some areas of the city are warded against flash steps."

The rest of the spectacle of Avalon was reduced to a spectacular blur. The sheer size of the city still struck Shunsui. It was far larger than he had thought upon first glance of the curtain wall from the lake, when he had guessed to find a fortress a mere fraction the size of the _Seireitei_. He realized with no small amazement that Avalon was actually _larger_ than the Court, and yet somehow that fact had been shrouded from all sight and sense until the captains had set foot within the walls. This was a strong place, and proud, yet strangely silent to the world beyond, as though it were not truly a part of the afterlife region its residents presided over.

The two knights brought their group to a halt at the entrance to a wide oval courtyard, an open park strewn with patches of manicured grass, stone benches, bubbling fountains, and stone statues on granite plinths. At its center, dominating the skyline, stood a keep of pure white stone, towards which every element of the space's design was crafted to draw the eye. A series of wide steps set in concentric rings led up a slow incline, with rows of trees trimmed to lessening heights that made the keep's true size difficult to judge from a distance. Clever architectural illusions aside, Kyoraku knew that did not make the citadel any less formidable. Ovoid in shape and symmetric with the surrounding space, its most prominent features were the squat turrets at every angle in the walls, three to each side, and the single larger drum tower that rose from its center.

"The Guardian's Round, and the Towers of the Seven," Konway introduced, with no small pride.

"I'm sure the captains are duly overcome by our grand nomenclature," Tamison said dryly. "Would that we were as impressive."

Juushiro smiled. "You're too hard on yourself, Sir Tamison. You have been excellent hosts, and Avalon is a fine city."

The five men began to walk, going up the first of the many widely spaced steps between them and the distant keep. Kyoraku felt the faint brush of _kido_, not unlike the sensation of passing through the barrier emitted by the _Seireitei_'s tall ringing wall of energy-blocking _sekkiseki_. Attempting to flash step through this section of Avalon's defenses would not be a pleasant experience.

"You're too kind, Captain Ukitake. Though I was referring more to our general state of affairs," said Silverrose.

"You've mentioned some problems within your ranks," Kijuro said. The elder captain was focused on the Soulguard knights, seeming not at all in awe of their surroundings. "I still wonder why you have gone so far as to recruit souls without spiritual powers."

"I won't try to convince you that it's anything short of dire need that led us to that," Konway replied. "The Soulguard has never been as robust as it should be for the region of the living world we are responsible for. This plague has taxed us sorely, and we have had no choice but to make use of whatever resources we can."

Tamison's mouth twisted. "Resources, indeed. Our noble order is leavened with sweepings of the slums of Avalon and half a dozen other towns, souls drawn by the promise of a warm bed and a roof over their heads. Half our men would break and run at the first sight of a hollow. The other half would too, they'd only soil themselves first."

Blackallen gave his fellow knight a stern look. "Not all men can be so gallant and chivalrous as my sworn brother. There is more truth to what he says than I would like, though."

"We _shinigami_ aren't all paragons of virtue and nobility," said Kyoraku, who would know. "But our _Shinōreijutsuin_ can whip even the meanest soul into shape. Well, most of them, anyway," he added with a humble grin.

"We lack a formal academy on the scale you are familiar with," Konway admitted, "but have had some success planting the roots of our own institution, which has produced groups of trained footmen to serve as sergeants. And of course, the Soulguard itself is an order of knighthood. Veteran knights take on squires – talented souls from among the ranks – training them and passing on knowledge until they're ready to take on squires of their own."

"An interesting concept," Juushiro mused. "We captains do something similar, picking talented souls to serve as our lieutenants, and grooming them for command."

"Our knights would be equivalent to your seated officers," explained Tamison, "though not so numerous. At present, we have some two hundred full-fledged knights."

"What about yourselves, Sir Konway, Sir Tamison?" Kijuro wondered. "Your _reiatsu_ is at the level of _shinigami_ captains. What rank do you hold among your order?"

"Among the seven companies, there are fifteen high officers," Blackallen said. "Each company has a Knight-Captain in command, and a Knight-Lieutenant beneath them. All are subordinate to our Lord Commander, who by tradition also claims authority over our first company. Sir Tamison and I are Knight-Captains. He leads our fourth company, while I serve the Lord Commander in the first."

Shunsui folded his arms inside the sleeves of his _haori_. "Your order of battle is impressive, Konway-_san_, but there are two magic words I haven't heard yet."

Silverrose smiled. "I suppose those words are _shikai_ and _bankai_?"

The guess was confirmed with a nod.

"We have different terms for them," Konway began, "but mastery of the initial release is a requirement for knighthood among the Soulguard, and no one would take on a squire who hasn't at least shown some promise of it. As for the final form, it is every bit as prestigious here as it is in Soul Society," said Blackallen. "Just as you captains are set apart by your _bankai_, so too are the finest warriors of the Soulguard. Until recently, all our high officers had achieved this."

Kyoraku didn't like the twinge of unease that comment elicited. "Until recently?"

Sir Tamison gave a bitter laugh. "I don't mean to insult the good company the three of you have proven to be, but we did not ask you here for stimulating conversation."

There was an awkward pause as they crested the final step before the entrance to the tower. Ahead of them, the sentries were already pushing open the doors, two thick wooden gates banded with iron.

Shunsui placed a hand on the dark-clad knight's shoulder, bringing their group to a halt. "Konway-_san_, we're here to help you. But why? It's not the plague victims; the three of us aren't much better at performing _konso _than the lowliest _shinigami_. And if it's hollows, three captains would hardly make a difference when you have your own officers just as strong as we are, and could have asked for a division instead."

Sir Konway did not turn to face Kyoraku, instead sharing a look with his fellow Soulguard. Tamison frowned, but nodded once.

Blackallen gave a long exhale that was not quite a sigh. "Two years ago there were eighteen Soulguard capable of what you from Soul Society would call _bankai_. There are six of us now."

…

"You have no idea what you're in the middle of, little knight."

The woman in white did not wait for a response to her ominous statement before she walked away from Sir Caylen, who was hoping he did not look half so foolish as he felt. Swinging down from the saddle, he followed her across the swirling dust of the town square to the spot where the monster's corpse had faded away. At several points she knelt to touch the ground as he watched, her gaze intense as she rubbed small pieces of loose soil or stray pebbles between her fingers. When she stood for the last time, her expression was a frown that could have meant anything. The suddenness of her gesture as she raised an arm towards the heavens made him jump, even before the blue sphere of light ascended skyward from her hand.

She gave him a sidelong look, one eyebrow quirked in an expression of grim amusement. "You're a jittery one, little knight."

He felt his face flush from anger, shame, or some combination of the two. Resting a hand on the pommel of his sword, the familiar touch of the smooth onyx gemstone in the hilt calmed him, as it always had. "Is that… thing… what killed all these people?"

Mention of the dead bodies about them brought out a look of distaste. "I take it you've never seen a hollow before. You're younger than I thought, or perhaps just oblivious."

Caylen bristled at the comment, his hand now strangling the leather grip. This girl did not appear so much older than he, and as a rule men who carried swords were not accustomed to being dismissed out of hand. It was a lifetime of calculated prudence that stayed his tongue, as well as the fresh memory of a lethal flash of light that had seemed as effortless to her as it had fantastic to him. He forced himself to take a deep breath. "What, then?"

She did not look at him as she replied, "Our failure."

The bluntness of the words struck him. Meanwhile, the woman began to scan the sky, her eyes tracking just above the rooftops. She appeared to be waiting, and the question of whether it was upon him or something else was answered with a blur of motion and a sound not unlike a gust of wind. Two men appeared next to them, wearing the garb of simple soldiers but for the cloaks clasped at their collars, white as snow, though stained with dust and dirt at the hems. It was not until he took in the swords at their sides that he noticed that the woman herself was armed, a slim scabbard of bleached leather hanging at her hip, all but hidden in the cloth of her cloak.

"Lady Shei, we saw your signal," one of the men said, offering her a salute, fist clenched at his chest. He gave Caylen a conspicuous glance.

"A feyseer, Sir Ian; I'll deal with him." She pointed past his shoulder at where Sir John was lolling gently in his saddle, his horse meandering through the square. "The other is already stunned, see to the memory and get him on his way, he's likely with the army encamped to the northwest." She shifted to face the other man. "The area is clear, and the ley lines appear stable for the moment. We'll take advantage while we can."

"Shall we summon the company, milady?"

"We can't risk it. None but knights are to enter the perimeter. Do your best, but we mustn't linger here."

With curt nods, both men turned towards their assignments. Sir Ian began a brisk walk towards Sir John, while the second made his way towards the largest of the groups of nearby souls, calling and gesturing for them to gather.

The woman turned to face Caylen, arms crossed at her chest. "I cannot make you forget as I have your friend, but I trust you will have no trouble keeping what you have seen here to yourself?"

The knight set his jaw. "We were sent here to find out what happened to this town. I do not intend to abandon my duty."

She seemed to study him for a moment, as though truly seeing him for the first time. "I respect your courage, sir, but this place is not safe for us, much less yourself."

"My safety is not my concern, nor should it be yours, milady. If you are worried that I will come upon some secret, you should know that I am well schooled in silence. At the least I do not mean to be branded a madman."

"That would be a rare quality in a feyseer. I have heard of humans who see souls playing as mediums, prophets, or worse. I have not heard of many knights."

"There is something to be said for being unique, then."

A hint of amusement played across her face. "You have spirit, little knight," she allowed, and for the first time the words were not entirely toned to insult. "I am Ilara Shei." She offered him a slight bow.

"You may continue to call me 'little knight,' but otherwise I am known as—"

"Sir Caylen Dare," a new voice provided. Both Caylen and Ilara turned to regard the newcomer. Dressed as a friar in robes of undyed linen, tattered and stained with mud, his thumbs were notched through a loose belt of hempen rope, and a cross of simple wood hung on a leather thong about his neck. A thick mop of brown hair sat atop his head, and his face was smooth and smiling.

"Friar Rykker?"

"Yeoman Rykker?"

Where the man was sharp and thin, his laugh was loud and robust. "Take turns, now! A humble man can only have so many names. Milady, I would be polite and let you speak first, but I fear Sir Caylen might swallow a bird in the meantime."

The knight stared at one of the holy men who had traveled with King Edward's army since it had assembled in England, providing blessings and sacrament to the soldiers on campaign. What was more, he was a man with whom Dare had often spoken, and shared a love of games of chance. A dozen questions went whirling through his head, but he asked the first that happened to come to him. "You can see her?"

The friar smiled. "Quite clearly, I assure you. And I might have asked you the same thing! All those nights we spent dicing, and I would never have guessed."

"What are you doing here? Better yet, how did you get here alone?"

"No godly man would harm a humble friar on the road," he proclaimed, as though it were some great joke. "In any case, they would have to see me first."

The last words came from behind Caylen, where the would-be friar had reappeared in a flash. Dare spun about, agape.

"How else do you think I reached Esprit before Prince Edward's vanguard? You should be flattered, sir; Wales called for a march not two hours after the survivors of your party reached us. Not every knight is worth such commotion."

"They make for the town?" Ilara asked.

"Yes, milady. My brothers and I would have intercepted them if we could, but we went hunting near Amiens last night. By the time we returned, it was too late."

"Your Quincy are stationed in this region to keep that army screened from hollows, not for free ranging."

Rykker's smile took on an edge. "We cannot be expected to watch every man night and day. And I should not have to mention the lives we saved last night, slaying hollows with not one of your knights within five leagues."

Ilara's eyes narrowed. "My voice may not have persuaded the rest of the Soulguard about what exactly your help is costing us, but do not forget that all activity in the area surrounding the spirit nexus is under my command. You remain here at my sufferance."

"You are not in a position to deny our aid. We Quincy are the only reason you have maintained a hold on this region at all. Besides, the Lord Commander, your captain – and even your own sister, I might add – are all among our staunchest supporters."

The sudden tension was palpable enough to blunt Caylen's remaining curiosity. He was saved from having to barge into a conversation he could only just follow by the return of Sir Ian. "Milady, forgive my interruption. The other man is on his way back to their garrison with a modified memory. I placed an invisibility cantrip on him which should get him there safely. Would you like me to help Sir Tristan with the burials?"

"Yes. We must bring as many souls to Avalon as we can."

"You cannot hope to keep pace with the new arrivals," the friar who called himself a Quincy interjected. "I passed thousands of souls on my way here, all moving towards—"

Ilara turned back from her subordinate, cutting Rykker off with a glare. "As you so often remind me, your business is with hollows, Yeoman. I'll thank you to leave these matters to us."

"Your position has become untenable, and you know it," Rykker insisted, sounding impatient. "There is no hiding so rich a feeding ground from the hollows. If only you would allow me to bring my retinue in from the perimeter—"

"No!" Shei cut him off with surprising vehemence. "Do you forget what happened the last time your Quincy loosed their arrows within the borders of this town? That you are here at all is risk enough."

"Coincidence I called it then, and to that I hold. Do not lay the deaths of Esprit upon our shoulders, milady. The plague creeps northward, but by road, river, and sail, not the arrows of the Quincy."

"Open your eyes, Yeoman! Deaths will be the least of our worries if you continue to hunt so near the nexus. If the ley lines—"

"Bah!" Rykker spat. "Spare me your arcane sophistry. Quincy defend the living, and slay the hollows who would do them harm. You lead the departed to the life beyond. I tire of your whinging over flows of magic that have nothing to do with either."

"Shall I send _you_ on to the next life, then, to demonstrate my theories?"

The would-be friar was wearing an expression ill-fitting a man of the cloth, and the mounting tension forced Sir Caylen to speak. "Milady, is there aught I can do to help?" He raised a hand to forestall her obvious protest, explaining, "I can do little against these hollows you speak of, yes, but I may be able to forestall my prince's arrival. From what you say, it is too dangerous for your own selves, and you would rather not contend with the arrival of several hundred armed men, yes?"

Ilara seemed to consider that. "Their arrival would not improve our situation, for a certainty. How would you propose to stop them from coming here?"

Caylen smiled. "I have a few ideas."

"I will return with him, then, if you are still resolved to misuse our services," said Rykker.

Ilara looked ready to go for her sword… before Caylen cuffed the would-be friar in the back of the head. He turned to the knight in surprise. "You would strike a man of the cloth?"

"So long as you do not speak like a holy man, I shan't treat you as one. Besides, I owe you worse than that for all the times you've cheated me at dice."

Rykker frowned, in a look that was playfully petulant. Caylen was amazed at how much more fitting the expression was compared to the countenance of pious benevolence he had seen so often before. "I resent your implication, sir. And how on earth could you tell?"

Their banter was interrupted by the windy whisper of a new arrival, appearing in the blink of an eye before Ilara and offering a hasty salute. While his cloak was white like his fellows, it had no trim, where the knights' were lined by grey wool, and Ilara's by silver thread. Her brow furrowed. "Edric, why are you inside the city? I left strict orders—"

"Forgive me, milady, this could not wait. The scouts have reported a pack of hollows to the north making their way towards the town."

"How many?"

"Dozens, perhaps as many as a hundred. Sir Danross ordered me to report, and begs your permission to engage."

"I've warned you of this, my lady!" Rykker almost shouted. "The hollows are following the souls like a game trail, right towards the last place you want them!"

Ignoring the Quincy, Shei locked her gaze on Edric. She spoke quickly, but with the forceful clarity of an experienced commander. "Find Sir Baros and Sir Edwin and instruct them to evacuate with the company back to Avalon and raise the alarm. Then find Sir Danross and have him fall back to the first ward. He is not to engage hollows under any circumstances until they reach the perimeter. Is that clear?"

"Yes, milady!" the soldier acknowledged, vanishing as quickly as he'd appeared.

"You would leave all the souls outside the wards to be fed upon?" Yeoman Rykker asked, his voice now a dangerous whisper.

It was beyond obvious to Caylen that this woman and his would-be friar friend were not on the best of terms, but the look she leveled upon him now was poison, pure and lethal. "To save ten thousand souls within the nexus, I will pay that price, and happily. I cannot save every soul in Europe, but I will do my duty here. And you will hold your tongue and help me, or by God I'll leave your body for the crows and use your soul for hollow bait!"

Rykker's glare was no less venomous in return, but for once he kept silent.

"Milady!" Sir Ian shouted from across the square. "To the south!" In the distance, rising above the roofs of the town, was a flare of red light, arcing through the sky like an arrow in flight.

Sir Tristan reappeared beside them, sword drawn. "Two packs, hunting this close?"

"No," said Ilara. She frowned. "We're being surrounded."

"To what end? Our gates can take us back to—"

"It is not our escape that concerns them, Sir Tristan." She looked at Rykker. "You're wrong about one thing, Quincy. The hollows aren't being led to the nexus; they've known about it all along. But they also knew the Soulguard was here, and so they sought safer hunting grounds. Even so, it was only a matter of time before their hunger overcame their fear."

"You knew they would attack? Then why are you sending away your men?"

Ilara turned towards Caylen. "From you, little one, I can forgive such a question. My men are of little use in the battle to come. It is my knights I will have need of."

"We are with you, milady," said Sir Ian, his voice grim but determined. Beside him, Sir Tristan nodded.

"You seem to have this all thought out," Rykker quipped. "And yet we're still standing here, while all the hollows are out there."

Upon the lady's face there passed the flash of what might have been a smile. "My knights will deal with the hunters, Yeoman Rykker. It is up to us to deal with the hounds."

The howls came from everywhere, yet nowhere, rolling through the square, freezing the souls in fear. Ilara and her knights drew together into a defensive triangle, backs to one another, while Caylen watched, astounded, as light coalesced around Rykker's left hand to take the shape of a longbow.

"You may want to find a safe place, my friend," the would-be friar said, his eyes scanning the square. "This is a battle you are ill-suited to fight."

Caylen would not have needed much convincing, but the appearance of the first hollow drove that point home. Across the yard, the air itself seemed to twist, and from that distortion a skeletal figure began to emerge. Rykker had already taken aim before it was even a firm shape, however, a flash passed through it, and it began to disperse. The flash became Ilara, sword in hand. "Stay your bow, Yeoman. We will handle the likes of these."

More hollows began to appear, but they vanished as quickly as they came. White blurs danced across the courtyard, three swift storms cutting through the faces of a dozen beasts. They were coming more quickly now, crawling out from whatever dark plane they called home. The roars of the new arrivals mixed with the clashes of steel that claimed their brothers, but it was the screams that were growing ever louder.

If the aim of these hollows was to panic the souls and drive them towards their fellows, then they were succeeding, despite the best efforts of Ilara and her knights. Clumps of souls were scrambling away from the foes as they appeared, breaking by ones and twos to flee from danger. When one of the beasts began to emerge near the large group that Sir Tristan had gathered, for a moment the piercing screams of humans rose above all else. The souls gaped as the hollow was cut down not a heartbeat later, but the fear was in them now, and they had decided that it was better to be anywhere but here.

Sir Caylen broke into a run, cutting in front of the mob, shouting for them to halt. Not all of them listened, but many stopped, wide eyes staring. The air was brimming with the stench of fear. "Stay close, friends! Hold, here where we can defend you!"

As one, they looked past Caylen, past and up. As they began inching backwards, Caylen felt the cold shadow fall upon him. The mob made no reply, but for their screams.

"Sir Caylen!"

The hollow was behind him. He was within reach of its thick arms, twice as long as its body and covered in hair. From behind a bone-white mask, red eyes gleamed… and were skewered by a shaft of white light. But where the hollow struck down by Ilara had burned away, fading like smoke, this one's body was shredded violently into nothingness.

Caylen gasped, but not from fear, nor for relief. His chest felt as though someone had just struck him with a warhammer. He dropped to one knee, his breath coming in strangled coughs.

"Sir Caylen!" Rykker appeared at his side, followed an instant later by Ilara. "Are you all right?"

The knight felt as though someone had tried to rip his heart from his chest, but Dare nodded, standing slowly. His condition, however, had just become the least of their concerns.

The atmosphere where the hollow had been destroyed was roiled and seething, a wicked, writhing black bruise upon the air. As they looked on, it sparked and crackled, like a tiny thunderhead full of destructive promise. And as he watched it twist in on itself, Caylen could feel it _pulling_ at him, little invisible hooks that grasped at the very core of his soul, beckoning him closer.

"Will you believe me now, Quincy?" Ilara breathed, angry and terrified all at once. "Will your brothers listen now, when I speak of the terrible price of your power?"


	5. Chapter Five: Weights and Measures

**Chapter Five**

**Weights and Measures**

"Are you _sure_ we can't stay a while?"

Hiromi Ochida bit back the first reply that came to mind, as that much cursing would have undoubtedly drawn unwanted attention. "I'm positive, Akata-_san_," he gritted out instead. "Now keep your eyes open, and your mouth closed." The two men were wearing long hooded cloaks, and while the ragged garments were far from comfortable on skin that was more accustomed to expensive wool and silks, they served to disguise them amidst the press of downtrodden rabble that they found themselves within.

The northern _Senkaimon_ was set in the open square of what had once been a small village in the outer reaches of _Rukongai_. Now, the clay walls and tiled roofs of the meeting hall, tannery, and dyer's shop were swallowed up amidst cruder structures of timber and thatch. Even the old buildings themselves were being consumed. A three-story building that had once been a respectable inn was packed to bursting by the sound of it, the sills were draped with half-clean laundry, and the walls had grown pitted and stained with dirt. The crowds were thick as fleas and twice as irritating, with unshaven ruffians guarding their patches of mud with jealous eyes, and street urchins everywhere underfoot. When they had begun their survey of district seventy-three, Ochida had been disgusted at the squalor and the grime. He hadn't thought it was possible, but the stench was getting worse.

The _shinigami_ were responsible for that, of course. Black _shihakusho_ were in abundance about their precious gate, and most of them had eyes only for the steady stream of souls emerging from between the ornate doors. They welcomed them with comforting smiles and open arms, but within moments they were placed in groups of twenty or thirty, and herded like cattle into the rest of the swarm.

"It's quieter than I thought it would be, Hiromi-_kun_," Akata said.

"The stench makes up for the noise. And that's not saying much, since I can barely hear myself think."

"That's not what I meant. Thirteenth Division is keeping the peace admirably. Not surprising, for a squad with so famous a leader as Captain Ukitake."

Ochida grimaced, but the star-struck fool did have a point. The groups being led from the gate were moving in good order, keeping together and being sent off in various directions. They were being spread out to keep the crowding down, whatever that was worth. And while the buildings bordering the square were crowded and noisy, the crowd did not interfere with the new arrivals. At the gate itself, half a dozen reapers stood sentry, their eyes on the lookout for trouble in the masses, hands resting conspicuously on their _zanpakuto_. But so long as the souls kept their distance from the gate, the _shinigami_ left them to their filth.

"The crowds will make this easy," the third man with them said, his voice as rough and coarse as their surroundings.

"I'm glad to hear that, Kisai. Perhaps you'll consider giving us a discount for your services," Ochida replied, eyeing the man with distaste.

Kisai was not his real name, but that was what he told them to call him, and so they did. He wore a cloak that was even more drab and tattered than theirs, but it looked far more comfortable about his stooped shoulders. A native of the outlying districts even before they had become squalid and lawless refugee camps, he was a small and twisted man, his long face pitted and scarred. "I don't think so, friend," he croaked. "Easy does not mean safe, and the _shinigami_ would have my head if they so much as sniffed me afterwards."

As unsavory as the man appeared, he was the one who made their entire plan possible. Kisai was a spiritually potent soul that had elected not to join the _Gotei_ Thirteen. That was not unusual by itself, especially this far from the Court, but this man was more than just a soul that felt hunger in a population that needed no food. He was a hedge wizard, a free soul that had somehow, or from someone, learned to harness his _reiatsu_ and become a _kido_ practitioner. Such men and women were few and far between, and hunted by the Secret Mobile Corps' Second Division as threats to the stability of Soul Society. And though they were criminals in the eyes of the _Seireitei_, they had certain uses to those outside it… for a price. "You don't have to remind me of our terms, old man. If the gates come down, you'll have your fee."

He smacked his lips around a mouth missing half its teeth. "A sweet deal we've made. I can taste it already. I'll have a feast from you, aye, every day until I die, and my _mononoke_ will help with your little plot."

"They had better fulfill their end of the bargain, though, or you're like to choke on what I serve you."

The old man's laugh was as uncouth as he was. "Don't worry about that. Now un-scrunch that clean pink face of yours, and keep moving. You're drawing looks." More than just a _kido_ user in his own right, Kisai was part of a group of others like him. They called themselves _mononoke_, but just like those elusive demons, were not an organization in any real sense. They lived in hiding from the _shinigami_ and worked throughout the _Rukongai_, selling their services to the highest bidder. When the right opportunities arose, each of them could get in contact with a few of his fellows, and them with a few more still. Kisai might boast of "his" _mononoke_, but Ochida judged that he was more a go-between than a leader, whose chief merit was that he had been the first of their group that they had found.

The old man shuffled on ahead, and Akata turned to his friend. "Are you sure about this, Hiromi_-kun_?" he whispered. "Can that old man really close the gates?"

Ochida scowled darkly at the hunched and hooded back in front of them. "All three at once, he says. And he's robbing us blind even for that." The services of the _mononoke_ did not come cheap, and to work in the open against the _shinigami_ had upped the price fivefold before they'd even gotten to the details. To hide the old fossil away after the fact and feed him in perpetuity was the least of the expense, which was why Ochida had needed to recruit three of the wealthiest denizens of the _Rukongai_ to his cause.

They had liked the plan well enough, once he'd laid it all out at their meeting in _Junrinan_ all those weeks ago. It was hideously expensive, yes, but simple for all that: stir up some trouble around the _senkaimon_, as a distraction to allow the _mononoke_ to collapse the gates. The true difficulty lay in preventing the _Gotei_ Thirteen from easily restoring them. Any _shinigami_ worth his kimono could open a gate to the living world and back, but the points in Soul Society's _reishii_ flow that would be conducive to opening and maintaining the permanent portals were few and far between. For that, Kisai promised that he could put men at all the other likely spots, to foul the flows of spirit particles there even as the three current gates were being closed. It would take weeks to restore a working _senkaimon_ outside of the Court itself, or so the old man swore. "They'll either have to bring souls in through the _Seireitei's_ gate and deal with the same danger they've placed us in for ten years," Hiromi had told the others, "or give up this business before the plague kills us all."

Miyozi and Hirako had needed some cajoling, and in the end they'd offered to pay their part, but no more than that. Koi was a cautious old man, and Hirako's son was the tenth seat of Fifth Division, so she could hardly support them in plain sight. Ochida had not needed or expected any more than that. Akata had been Akata, the same eager lickspittle that had started following him around two years ago. His fawning over the _shinigami_ was matched only by his wealth; he had inherited a fortune, and he was frivolous and open-handed in the bargain. From whom the wealth had come Ochida had never bothered to ask, nor did he care. Once Heiji had known his heroes would be in no danger from their plot, convincing him to foot half the bill had scarcely required effort.

It was good that Akata was so generous, because Ochida would have never put up with him otherwise. He had tagged along like an especially annoying younger brother, insinuating himself into every stage of the intricate planning that had gone on… all the ones he knew of, at least. Heiji had also wanted to meet Kisai, who had sounded so scandalously shady that nothing would do but he must see him face-to-face. He had even insisted on visiting the gates himself, as if that would have some effect on the plan they had laid out. His friend had obliged, to keep him occupied, and so here they were on a tour of the gates that was little more than a show for the other man's benefit. However small the possibility of him noticing what was going on, Ochida did not want to take any chances.

All the same, Hiromi was beginning to have doubts about the wisdom of that decision. The younger man could not stop staring at the _shinigami_, whether they were standing guard or herding souls. When they had stopped in a tavern to gauge the mood of the residents packed around the gate, there had been a pair of reapers at a table across the room enjoying a meal at the end of their rounds. Ochida had kept a nervous eye on them, but it seemed Heiji couldn't look anywhere else. He might have run up to shake their hands and kiss their damned sandals if Ochida hadn't bluntly told him to stay put; Akata had wandered off twice in their time at the western gate before Ochida had reined him in. Even so the young twit stood there in his baggy kimono and overlarge cloak, eyes full of stars as he gawked at the _shinigami_ standing watch on the raised platform of the _Senkaimon_.

"Come on, Akata_-san_. We need to get moving before we lose that old fool in the crowd."

"All right, Hiromi-_kun_. Are we going to the southeast gate next? I heard that the Sixth Division was stationed there. Maybe we might even see Captain Kuchiki…"

Ochida let the noise of the crowd drown his companion out, with little interest in hearing about how long the Kuchiki family had held captaincy of the Sixth Division, or the meaning of the camellia flower that served as the division's symbol. His thoughts were elsewhere, on the men scattered throughout _Rukongai _whom Ochida had hired for a very important task. If any of his co-conspirators should ask, he would tell them they were rounding up souls for their "distraction" at the gates, and that was true enough. They had spent the last few days traveling to every sake house, winesink, and unsavory hole in the eighty districts, placing coins in the hands of just the right sort of men. By the time he was done indulging Heiji and they were back in _Junrinan_, all the pieces would be in place.

His face hidden by the baggy hood, Ochida could not help but smile. For what it was worth, he hoped Akata did catch a glimpse of one of his beloved captains… after all, they and their white _haoris_ would not be hanging about the _Rukongai_ much longer.

**…**

They always met in alleys. Well, sometimes in caves. Or the deep wilderness. And there was that one time underneath the granary in northern district forty-seven, but he preferred not to think about that.

It was an alley this time, anyway. A dark one, of course, as the sun was not yet high enough to reach between the buildings. The meeting place had been set in the wynd between two of the tallest structures in _Hokutan_: an ornate four story opera house and the old and half-crumbling three-tiered bathhouse which leaned almost up against it. The man had donned his most inconspicuous cloak for the occasion… though if it was the most of anything, didn't that make it conspicuous in some way? He would have to give that some thought. Later, though. Now, he was too busy waiting.

"Stop that pacing, Kalrik," the voice said from behind him.

Kalrik stopped, and turned. "You're late, Watari."

"Stuff it," Watari shot back. "I got here as soon as I could. This place is crawling with _shinigami_."

"What's going on?" Kalrik sounded concerned.

"They always get twitchy before a rotation, and the thirteens up north should be moving out soon. More than that, though. Word on the wind is a reaper got killed near their gate."

"How?"

"Hell if I know," Watari groused. "And it makes our job that much tougher if they're on their toes. Enough chatter, though. I've got your assignment."

"Kisai took his time. I've been hearing about this big job of his for a week."

"Word's been out twice that long, at least. We've been worried we wouldn't find enough men. You should check your drop more often."

"I've been busy," Kalrik said dismissively.

"It makes no matter. You're the last."

"I'm flattered. So who's the target?"

"Not who, what. Some rich fool from first district is throwing coin at us to close the _Gotei_'s gates in _Rukongai_."

Beneath the shadow of his hood, Kalrik's eyes went wide. "Why?"

Watari growled. "What do we care, fool? They're paying ten times what any of us has made on a single job before."

"Well, since you put it that way… Where do you need me?"

"You've got it easy. There's a _reishii_ flux just south of Mount Koifushi, right here in district three. Your job is to close it off once you get the signal."

"And what's the signal?"

"For you, the west _Senkaimon_ closing. I don't know when that will be, so don't ask. Before nightfall, I hear."

"I'll be waiting."

"Good. Practice for tonight, and wait a little more right there until I'm gone. I don't want you following me, we're in enough danger as it is." Without another word, Watari pulled his cowl lower and stalked out of the alley.

"What, no goodbye kiss?" Kalrik muttered under his breath. He followed his instructions all the same, though, waiting several minutes before he moved. But when he did, the only place he went was _up_. Landing lightly on the roof of the bathhouse with its drunken tilt, he drew back his hood and took a moment to relish the fresh breeze that blew through his sandy blonde hair. "So, did you hear?"

A few heartbeats later, a shadow detached itself from the space between the buildings. Clad in black from head to heel, only a pair of eyes were visible, two pools of molten gold. "How did you know I was there?" a woman's voice asked.

Kalrik had a boyish smile, though Kalrik was not his name. "You've been following me since last night, Yoruichi-_san_."

"Kisuke Urahara, you're a menace! You knew for that long?" She drew away the mask and shawl that shrouded her face, shaking out the purple hair that fell to her shoulders. Her skin was dark as chocolate, and her mouth was twisted with a smile.

"What, no critique of my performance? I'm hurt. Didn't you enjoy my little show?"

"For six years you've been feeding us intelligence on the _mononoke_, but I never knew how. I figured you had a contact in their network, but I never expected you to _be_ the contact."

"A man must pass the time somehow," said Urahara with a shrug. "They started giving us these long weeks off, and I found myself so terribly bored."

Yoruichi shook her head. "Still sneaking off into the _Rukongai_. When you were younger, we thought it was just a phase. Now you should be more thoughtful; a girl might get suspicious."

"Oh? Is _that_ why the deputy commander of the _Onmitsukido_ was following me around? I'm relieved. For a second I thought I might have been under investigation."

"Who said you're not?" Yoruichi grinned. "Third Seat Urahara, how do I know you won't help carry out this nefarious plot I overheard?"

"Well, for one, Captain Ise would be very disappointed in me. If I used my special assignment to cause any more destruction than was necessary, it would not improve my chances for a promotion."

One thin eyebrow quirked upwards at that. "So it's an assignment, then? I thought you said this was a leisure activity."

"It can't be both? Oh, dear. That does present a problem."

"I'm sure Yamamoto has written a regulation for it somewhere. For the right motivation, I might be persuaded to overlook this infraction."

He ambled closer, tousled hair dangling in front of blue eyes that sparkled with mischief. "And how might I persuade the heiress of the Shihouin clan to forgive her humble servant?" he asked, leaning close.

She placed one finger on his nose and pushed him upright. "You can start by helping me with the _mononoke_."

His brow furrowed, not expecting the banter to end so abruptly. "What's wrong?"

"I suppose you wouldn't have heard. Six of our rally points in the living world were attacked last night. Lieutenant Horikawa of Third Division was killed, with two dozen other casualties. We're still sorting through reports, but it's almost certain the adjuchas leading the attack escaped."

"Six in one night? An organized offensive?"

"The Captain-Commander suspects so. And now we hear this about a plan to attack the _senkaimon_ from within the _Rukongai_."

Urahara remembered one other thing Watari had mentioned, in addition to their plot. "What about the dead _shinigami_ near the west gate?"

"Two of my patrol officers, actually. One dead, and one missing since yesterday."

"You suspect the _mononoke_?"

"For now. These two men were trying to track down whoever has masterminded this operation, not the _mononoke _themselves, but who knows what they ran into? There wasn't enough of the corpse left to determine cause of death."

"That sounds like them," said Urahara, his mouth twisting in disgust. "Most of the charming fellows I've met so far specialize in 'disappearances.' This assignment is tame by comparison."

Yoruichi frowned. "Please tell me you haven't actually gone through with any jobs for those scum."

"Poor Kalrik has to make a living, and how could I become part of their band if I failed at all my tasks?" She looked more than half-tempted to slug him, until he added, "Don't worry. Do you know how many ways there are to make someone disappear and keep them perfectly intact? I've even come up with a few new ones along the way. I've saved a dozen lives, and the _mononoke_ have thanked me for it. And made me a good amount of cash on the side, I might add. This business is quite the racket."

"You're not going to wrangle out of this job so easily, though. It sounds like the plan is to cut off any high-volume access between here and the living world. And even you might have trouble hiding an open _senkaimon_."

"Ah, but therein lies the beauty of the situation. As far as I can tell, every rogue _kido_ user in their network is being called in. We won't have a better opportunity to round them up… which is why I infiltrated them in the first place. I'm afraid my days as Kalrik, devious fugitive of _Rukongai_, are coming to an end."

"And a fittingly bad end it will be, failing in his final task."

"That's not fair," he pouted. "And I was _this close_ to informing the Secret Mobile Corps and letting them assist with the arrests…"

"Oh, you'll let us handle them, all right," said Yoruichi, donning a wicked grin. "Assuming you ever want to be forgiven for keeping me in the dark about this pet project of yours for the past six years."

He feigned a look of shock. "I should have known the commander of the Patrol Corps would outmaneuver me. Very well, it seems I have no choice. Not counting the three current gates, there are ninety-four points in Soul Society at this time with the particle density and _reishii_ flows necessary for a stable _senkaimon_."

"And how would you know that?"

"Now, now, Lieutenant Shihouin, you should know better. The _Kido _Corps is under the direction of the Twelfth Division, or had you forgotten?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. "I just didn't expect you to be so knowledgeable. You're a fair hand at _hado_, I'll admit, but you've always seemed more engrossed in your alchemy and tinkering than your captain's specialty."

"Perhaps, but a man must be well-rounded, if there is someone he would prefer not to outrank him anymore."

"You're an ambitious fiend, _Third Seat_," she replied, jabbing her finger at his chest. "Now, unless your plan to surpass me involves getting me demoted for failing to stop this plot, we'd better find these ninety-four other spots the _mononoke_ plan to hit."

"Yes, ma'am. Shall I recite them for you, or you would prefer I draw a map?"

She blinked. "You have them all memorized?"

Urahara grinned. The two of them had grown up together on the Shihouin estate, and risen side-by-side through the _Gotei_ Thirteen for many long years since. For two people who had known each other that long, one of the greatest accomplishments was to elicit a look of honest surprise on the other's face. By Urahara's count, he had just retaken the lead: one thousand, four hundred and seventy-two to one thousand, four hundred and seventy-one. "But of course. A keen memory is essential for ambitious fiends like me."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were showing off."

Kisuke made quite a show out of his startled gasp. "Not at all!" he protested. "I simply must hone the tools provided to humble intellectuals like myself. Without my wits, what hope could I have of keeping up with the Goddess of Flash?" He sketched a bow.

"Why Kisuke, I think I've almost forgotten what I was supposed to tail you for."

"You will forgive me if I pray your memory does not improve."

"Enough talk. Hurry up now, we've got a busy day ahead of us." She shot him one last grin that sent shivers down his spine. "Oh, and one more thing: Tuesday, nine o'clock. The Lotus Inn. Fish stew. I've been following you since last week."

Damn. Tied again.


	6. Chapter Six: Dissonance

**Chapter Six**

**Dissonance**

The hallways of the Towers of the Seven were much too dark for Kyoraku's taste. The white exterior had made a striking first impression, but within her gates the home of the Soulguard was crafted of old, cold stone. The passages along the outer walls were spaced with thin windows, but the rest had only torches, their sconces ten paces apart. They had not encountered another soul since the guards at the main entrance, and the emptiness of the place was unsettling. The _Seireitei_ was hardly crowded, with most of the _shinigami_ deployed in the field or outside the Court's walls, but to Shunsui the halls of the Soulguard felt much too much like a tomb.

Their knightly escort was doing little to lighten the mood. After revealing the reason why the captains had been called here, a sullen silence had come over Sir Konway and Sir Tamison both. It could not have been an easy thing to reveal that their proud order was overmatched, its strength on the verge of exhaustion, and perhaps they were embarrassed at the admission. Kyoraku could forgive them that, but it was not shame he sensed from the two knights. Sir Tamison was angry, if Shunsui was any judge. Sir Konway was as well, but there was a deeper edge to his mood, a simmering unease that came perilous close to fear.

When the five men reached the courtyard between the outer bailey and the central tower, the sunlight was a welcome change. Even then, however, the shadows cast by the high walls robbed them of most of the warmth. At least here they saw some signs of life. Set against the base of the tower was a smithy, an orange glow emanating from the wide entrance and smoke churning from the chimney. A group of armed men was drilling in a training yard, and the clash of steel and timber filled the air. As they approached the keep, two spearmen pushed open a set of double doors, their thick wood ornately carved and polished to a reflective sheen.

A cavernous hall welcomed them. The chamber was ten times the size of the captain's meeting room in First Division headquarters, and brightened by the multicolored light of stained glass windows. A dozen hearths as tall as a man were set into each side wall, and long trestle tables ran the length of the room, lined with enough benches to seat several hundred. More hearths were set in the far wall, at the back of a raised dais that held another table set crosswise to the rest.

The knights spared them an introduction as they led the men inside, making their way towards a door set in the far corner of the hall. It opened on an audience chamber, lit by a roaring fire which filled the small room with a yellow glow that was almost cozy. A thick carpet dyed a red as dark as blood covered the floor, and above it was a single wide round table, beautifully crafted and stained a brown that drank the light.

As they entered the room, the two knights stepped to either side of the three _shinigami_ and saluted, clenched fists to their chests. "Lord Commander," Sir Konway said. "May I present our esteemed colleagues from Soul Society, the captains Ise, Ukitake, and Kyoraku."

A cloaked figure stood to the captains' left, looking up from a conversation. The Lord Commander of the Soulguard was clad in dark blue velvet, and seated at the far side of the table in a tall chair of white marble flecked with gold. The Lord Commander was also—

"A woman?" There was no mistaking the surprise in Shunsui's voice. Even for him, it would have been a rare feat of comedic timing that accomplished the soft clatter of his straw hat falling to the floor… and indeed, credit for that could only be given to the dagger which had appeared at his throat, cutting the chin strap and placing its cool kiss against his neck.

"Peace, Blackguard," the Lord Commander's voice rang out, before any of the captains could even reach their weapons. The hand holding the dagger withdrew from Kyoraku's throat, and the blade vanished into the cloak of the man-shaped shadow which had shifted from the edge of the table into the captains' midst. Without a sound, the shade stepped between them to return to the woman's side, where it became almost indistinguishable from the walls of the solar. "My apologies," she said, sitting in her high-backed chair. "Blackguard often reacts somewhat rashly to comments upon my gender."

Turning the effort of bending over to retrieve his hat into a sweeping bow, Shunsui seemed unfazed. "It is I who should apologize, milady." He rose to replace the hat upon his head, where it rested as naturally as it ever had before the chin string was cut. "I meant no offense."

"Within these halls, I am no lady," the Lord Commander corrected, her face tinged with amusement at Shunsui and his swirling pink _haori_. "I am Verris Nightstep, Lord Commander of the Soulguard."

"A pleasure to meet you. And you as well, Blackguard. You have a fitting name," Shunsui said, inclining his straw hat in the shadow's direction. "Your bodyguard?" he wondered, turning back to Verris.

"Bodyguard, advisor, companion, and more," she said, rising to her feet. She was garbed in a robe of rich damask and velvet, blue as the midnight sky. The dark hair that framed her face seemed almost to take the color of her clothing, and her skin was a fair golden cream. "Blackguard is my soulblade."

Twice in as many moments, Kyoraku counted himself surprised. "This is the manifestation of your _zanpakuto_?"

Verris smiled, and strode out from behind the table. Her robes were low-cut, though not immodest, and she had a woman's shape. At her waist was a belt studded with amethyst and sapphires, and from it hung a scabbard of leather dark as sin. She drew her blade, a grey-white longsword glimmering razor sharp. At its widest it spanned no more than three fingers' width, and along a single fuller it tapered to a wicked point. "My knights have made poor hosts it seems, to have not explained this yet."

"They mentioned that you had different names for your releases," Kijuro said in their defense. "And we did not inquire."

"It is more than a matter of names, Captain Ise. You _shinigami_ externalize your spirit energy in the form of a weapon. You commune with this part of your soul, and as you come to understand it you release more of its potential. Would this be correct?"

"In as many words, yes," Ukitake allowed. The experience of it sounded cheap to put it that way, but it was true enough to not haggle over meanings. "Are you saying you do not?"

"Soulguard are forged just as _shinigami _are. Substitute 'soulblade' for _zanpakuto_ and we materialize our first weapons just as you do. The first release, what you name _shikai_, we refer to as the 'calling.' But beyond that, there is one difference," the Lord Commander explained. "Here in Avalon, any knight who reaches the calling earns the right to bear a weapon. Not one formed from their own spirit energy, but crafted, forged by master weaponsmiths to their most exacting specification."

Ukitake's look turned doubtful. "But why? Your soulblades, if they are at all like our _zanpakuto_, would be better than any crafted blade. Feather-light, self-restoring, never dulled by age or use… How can even the finest weapon of any metal compare?"

"The answer to that is simple, captain," the Lord Commander said. "Because in Soul Society, you have no arcanite."

Kijuro knitted his brow. "Arcanite?"

"It is a precious element, found only here in Avalon," Sir Konway said. "Once forged it is nigh indestructible, lighter, stronger, and more resilient than any steel. But that is just the metal itself."

"You can feel it, can't you?" Verris said. She took two long slow strides toward Kyoraku, and gently lowered the tip of her sword against his chest.

Its touch was like a cold blast of wind, a surge that pressed against him and made him catch his breath. He could feel the hair all over his body standing on end. "Is that… _reiatsu_?"

"Arcanite has one property even more important than all the rest. It has the potential to absorb tremendous amounts of spiritual energy, which if attuned correctly can be manipulated and accessed at any time."

Juushiro's eyes grew wide as sake cups. "Attuned… you mean, to the wielder of the weapon, the person who placed the energy within it?"

"Exactly. And over time, it saturates the weapon, infusing the metal itself with its bearer's spirit energy, and making a weapon every bit as much a part of their soul as any _zanpakuto_. And so you see, good captains. Every knight of Avalon may wield a blade that not only purifies hollows and buries souls, but can store many times their own natural spiritual energy, to be called upon at need."

"Fascinating," muttered Ise.

"It is not without its drawbacks," Sir Tamison cautioned. "It can take years for a knight's blade to fully attune to him, just as it takes years for you to master the manifested forms of your final release. And the energy stored within the blade can be as deadly to the wielder as any enemy. Draw too much out at once, and the arcanite can rupture. It has been known to happen… and I'm sure the stories would be quite spectacular, if anyone ever survived to tell the tales."

"_Yare, yare_…" Kyoraku groaned. "You have me convinced, I'll be asking for one of these pretty swords for my birthday... but there's one thing I don't quite get." He looked at Blackguard, who had stood listening to the conversation, silent and unmoving the entire time. "He doesn't look much like a piece of metal, and your sword is right there in your hand."

"Too true," replied the Lord Commander. "But neither is he just the externalization of my sword. He is its final form, my surest and strongest weapon. He is my avatar."

"Here, just as in Soul Society, few souls are capable of reaching the pinnacle of strength," said Sir Konway. "The power stored within an arcanite blade can make any knight formidable, but it is of little use in mastering themselves. For those of us who have achieved that feat, however, two paths are opened."

"For _bankai_, we have two names where you have one," Sir Tamison went on. "The nature of the wielder defines their weapon, and so does the nature of the weapon define their strength. For those whose final release summons forth the full might of their spirit into the world, such as our Lord Commander, it is called an avatar. Others we term an aspect, where their release augments or enhances the strength they already possess. Perhaps they are two sides of the same coin, but so it has always been."

The distinctions made sense to Shunsui. No two _bankai_ were alike, any more than the two _shinigami_ who achieved them, so it was a matter of simplicity to paint them all with the same brush. Even so, he could recall his comrades within the thirteen divisions, and place each sword and its release within these Soulguard molds. It was no different from making a distinction between combat- and _kido-_type _zanpakuto_. Personally, he felt that dividing the world into neat little piles was the furthest thing from elegance… but he also knew how prickly some of the _Gotei_ could be when academy graduates with the "wrong" type of sword came to their doors. Even some captains had strong preferences. All four of the _kenpachi_ Kyoraku had known had been equally stubborn brutes, and even Kijuro was partial to his fellow _kido_ masters, though Shunsui had never known him to pass over a good brawler out of hand.

Still, as enlightening as their journey had been to this point, there was a reason the captains were here, and it was not for a lesson in terminology. He said as much aloud, and the Lord Commander laughed.

"You must forgive us, Captain Kyoraku. We Soulguard have many traditions, and our pride in them is fierce. Six men have sat in the White Seat that I now hold, and their names and those of all the men and women who have graced the chairs around this table are remembered and honored for their service.

"You have come to us in a time of darkness and peril the likes of which none of our predecessors had seen, and have done so when no one in all the afterlife could have faulted you for looking to your own affairs. It is only in gratitude that we wish to share some small part of ourselves. I could not abide rewarding your answer to our call by asking you to risk yourselves for somber strangers, or for those who would not share the wonders of the world we ask you to protect."

There had been nothing in the Lord Commander's words or tone that could be defined as a rebuke, but Shunsui Kyoraku knew better, and he had the grace to feel ashamed. It had been a great many years since he had last had this bitter taste in his mouth, but that was no consolation; not for the beleaguered warriors who had swallowed their pride to be such gracious hosts, and certainly not for himself. He offered the Lord Commander a deep and honest bow.

"It will be our highest honor to help defend you and your cause," Juushiro said solemnly from beside him. Never one to leave his friend alone, even – or perhaps especially – in shame, he bowed as well. As always, it meant more to Shunsui than he could say.

"Your presence alone is a debt that we can never hope to repay. But before we ask more of you, we will inform you of our foe." She looked to Sir Konway.

"Our troubles began two years ago. The plague had not yet reached us, though we knew it was moving westward by warnings from your Captain-Commander and the High Sheikh of the Holy Land. We had begun making preparations when the spirit nexus moved within our territory."

"We'd feared a transition for some time," Kijuro said. "The _juureichi_ had been stable for sixty years in an uninhabited section of Sichuan Province in China."

"Its shift could not have come at a worse time, or in a worse location. It appeared within a town called Esprit, deep within our territory. The bulk of our forces were much farther east, near Constantinople, set to face the plague's progression by land. And when the plague made an unexpected appearance in the port city of Marseilles, it was to there our reserves were drawn. Only a few of us were left when the spirit nexus arrived. From that point, things fell apart more quickly than anything could have prepared us for."

The _juureichi _had been nothing but trouble for the _shinigami_ for as long as Kyoraku had known. Whenever the captains were informed that the single-most potent collection of spirit particles, and the flood of souls that were drawn to it, had appeared in their jurisdiction, Shunsui never enjoyed the news. To have it show up near a population center only enhanced the hassle. For it to do so in the midst of an outbreak of a staggeringly lethal plague… well, dealing with that was not something he envied the Soulguard. Small wonder they had been overwhelmed.

"I can't imagine the number of hollows you were forced to deal with," Ukitake said, his sympathy evident.

"Yes, we were quite overmatched," Tamison said bitterly. "They swarmed our defenses. They swept away all who stood against them. They feasted on the souls of living and dead alike. As a matter of fact, _both_ of them did."

Ukitake and Ise looked lost, and Kyoraku felt as though he was right next to them in the wilderness.

"Sir Tamison has cut to the heart of the matter, as gently as ever," Konway muttered, with a dark look at his sworn brother. "However numerous the Soulguard's challenges and complications, it is no great host – neither of souls nor hollows – that has brought us to this point. All our woe can be placed in the hands two fearsome beasts alone."

The Lord Commander took up the tale, and her voice was but a whisper. "They said we woke them from their dark places, many years ago. It was Avalon's greatest blunder, our folly and our shame: an expedition deep within Hueco Mundo, which stirred them from their sleep. We woke them, and they waited. But now they are here."

"Who?" breathed Juushiro.

"The Vasto Lorde."

**…**

"What is that?" Rykker hissed. They all stood staring, and even the hollows had seemed to take a pause. Whether it was to regroup, or from fear of the swirling black rift that had appeared within Esprit's town square, no one could say.

Whatever it was, Caylen backed away from it. His sixth sense had given him many glimpses of a world beyond his own, of restless souls and noble reapers, and now beasts from some nightmare. In some part of his mind he had always wondered if it was assurance of the afterlife that had granted him bravery against any living man, but caution he had learned as well. Though it was no bigger than a breastplate, he did not like the look of this dark window to the underworld, and he liked the feel of it even less. With every step backwards, his breath came easier, and the pressure in his chest grew less.

"It is a fusion of spirit energy," Ilara said. "A point where the ley lines between the living world and the dead have grown so twisted that they have burst, breaking the boundaries between them both."

"It has a foul sense," Sir Tristan said. "Can you seal it, milady?"

"With time, yes, I could unwind the flows. But it would take longer than we have, and it is a symptom, not the cause."

"And that cause is me, no doubt," the Quincy spat.

"Not you alone, yeoman," she replied. The anger had gone out of her eyes when she regarded him now. "Not you, nor even all your fellows. This wound runs deeper than that now."

A new chorus of howls demanded their attention. They were distant, but growing closer. The hollows were coming again. "My lady, what are your orders?" Sir Ian asked.

"We must hold the town until help from Avalon arrives. With the ley lines in such disarray, even I cannot guess what would happen if the hollows were to feed."

"What of me, my lady?" Rykker wondered. "Would you still accept my help?"

For a long moment, she seemed to consider the Quincy, the standing contradiction of roughspun robes and a great glowing bow. "The damage is done," she said at last. "Now that a breach is made, even our very presence is tearing at the borders of the worlds. I fear you may accelerate the damage, but no more than would allowing the hollows to feast."

"A grim 'yes' that makes, but I'll take it all the same."

"My lady," Sir Caylen said, "I fear this battle grows beyond me, but I would help you in any way I can."

Above the line of the scar that crossed her face, her eyes looked at him with pity. "For what it might be worth, I am sorry, my good knight. I should have sent you away at once, and I fear my mistake may cost you dearly in the end."

Before this day had begun, Caylen Dare had known nothing of hollows or Quincy or Soulguard. He had been nothing more than a knight who served his prince and king, and perhaps he was still no more than that. But in his ears echoed the words he had said to Sir John Chandos the night before: "_The world may be coming to an end, but we still have the choice of how to face it_." His sword rang from its scabbard. "A hollow may make a meal of me, but first he'll taste bitter steel."

For the first time, Ilara smiled. The curl of her lips seemed to melt the scar across her face, and her white cloak seemed drab in comparison. "Should you die today, Sir Caylen, or some day far in the future, I do believe I'll find you again, and make you a knight once more."

He did not know what to say to that, but no time was left for a reply in any case. The hollows had returned.

The earlier attack seemed a skirmish by comparison. This time, the hollows appeared faster than Caylen could count them. The Soulguard knights moved so fast, there seemed to be a hundred of them, answering every challenge, and Rykker filled the air with so many arrows that it looked like an entire company of archers were loosing lethal glowing bolts. It was hard to believe that only four were on their side; it felt as though he stood in the midst of an army. That gave him heart. Caylen tried his best to keep the souls in hand and prevent another panic, but even the hollows no longer seemed to be concerned with their would-be meals.

One thing worried him, though. Amidst the chaos, more of the black whorls had begun to appear. Not only where Rykker's arrows struck, but also where the spectral outlines of the knights emerged for the fleetest of instants, as they darted between the hollows. Dozens and more, dark and twisting, they arose as though to mark the fallen in a battle Caylen could barely see.

Just as the onslaught seemed to slow, he felt it. There came a great deep pulse, which seemed to surge from the very heart of the Earth. One second he was watching the hollows die, and the next blood was thundering in his ears. His voice abandoned him, along with all the air in his lungs, at the sudden suffocating pressure. Once as a squire, a horse had broken a leg as he rode, and in its tumble had fallen upon him. The crushing sensation of the animal laying atop him may as well have been a woman's caress compared to the feeling that engulfed him now. Eyes wide, unable to breathe, he fell to one knee.

Then he heard Sir Ian scream.

Time seemed to stop as his gaze was drawn to the sound. The knight's cloak was no longer white, as a red stain spread from its center. He was bowed forward, legs dangling a foot off of the ground, and his sword fell from nerveless hands to clatter upon the dirt. With a sudden jerk, the corpse flew through the air, as though it were no more than a doll tossed by a child. It crashed into a building at the edge of the square to a chorus of broken glass and shattered timber. For an instant afterwards, there was only silence.

"_You!_" a voice cracked, loud and dark as a storm.

"Me," came the reply, whisper-soft and deadly.

Bringing his eyes up towards the new voice, Caylen saw… a man, and yet not a man. There were two legs and two arms, yes, but no living man had skin so sickly pale. Two eyes were set where they should be, but they were pupil-less, milk-white and blank as a clouded sky, yet exuding an unfathomable depth of malice. White nails extended like claws from its right hand, as long and straight as swords, glittering red with blood. Its left hand cradled a bone-white jaw, beneath pale lips twisted in an expression of predatory amusement.

"It's Avaris," Rykker croaked. "God save us."

Pale blank eyes regarded the Quincy, and rows of teeth as sharp and pointed as daggers appeared within his smile. "I might thank you, Quincy, if you can give me good sport, but I don't think that I will save you."

"You are no god, monster," Sir Tristan growled. His sword was held at guard before him.

"And you are dead, knight." Just like that, he made it so. Without ever having appeared to move, he stood before Sir Tristan, right arm outstretched. The claws had passed to either side of the knight's weapon, and dug deep into his chest. Avaris shook the knight free as he might have a speck of dirt.

"You will pay for that," Ilara spat. "For them, and all the others. I will teach you their names, so that I may force you to beg each and every one for forgiveness!"

Cold empty eyes regarded her, and the murderous thing's head tilted in amusement. "What makes you think I don't know their names already? Your friends are a part of me now. Not these two, not yet, but the others. The ones I have consumed. They celebrate their new strength, and the chance they have been given to be some small part of greatness."

"Silence, demon. It was not their choice. He… They would never choose that path."

It laughed at that, a halting frigid sound, like a dagger chipping at a block of ice. "_He_ was the first, surely you haven't forgotten. And the most eager for his reward."

"Liar!" Ilara screamed. Her face was bright with fury.

"You will see, girl. You will know, once you are a part of me too. Are you anxious? To meet him again, after so long… He understands."

Caylen could see the whiteness of her hand, there as it gripped her sword. Beneath her feet, the dust began to shift and stir.

"He wants to see you again," he heard it say. "Do not be afraid, little—"

"_Don't say that name!_" Her voice was like nothing human.

The sudden sharp ring of steel was the only thing to tell Caylen that, in that moment, it had struck. But whatever sorcery had outmatched her knights, whatever fury might have held her, as the sound faded away and Avaris crouched where she had been, Caylen saw Ilara still standing across the square.

Again, the demon grinned. "You have grown, girl. You may yet make this interesting."

The stir of air about the young woman surged into a tempest. Dust and dirt flew back in a cloud, as though some wind had risen from within her. The sword in her hand began to glow. "You have no idea, monster," Ilara said, her voice gone cold. "But you will.

"_Weave beneath the world, Mana!_"

The light was blinding. The dust scratched and choked as it flew about; a storm had descended on the square. The wind was howling through the streets, but cutting through that sound was a higher, shivering keen. The light faded, the wind died, and the dust settled to the ground, but the sound remained. When finally Caylen could open his eyes, he saw Ilara standing there, sword in hand. Out from the hilt ran glimmering tendrils, which teased and twisted about the blade. They moved with minds of their own, writhing like glowing white snakes, snapping at the air.

She swung her sword, and like a dozen hissing serpents, the trails lashed out. They seemed to grow as they reached outwards. Avaris leapt away, and they scored the ground where he had stood, leaving trails of light in the dirt. They leapt again, and then twice more, hissing through the air with their high, thin wail. Each time they struck only ground, and once the side of a building.

The next time Avaris made to move away, the tendrils of light moved with him. He gave a hiss as they entwined his leg, but the sound was cut off when the whips shifted once more. A cloud of dirt and dust rose up where they threw him to the ground. The monster was not down long, but when he rose the same glowing slashes had been left on his leg. Unlike those upon the ground and walls, though, they began to fade at once.

"A pretty trick," Avaris said, "though I expected better."

Then his leg exploded.

The monster's howl was more human than the rest of him. When the smoke and dust cleared, black marks were scored upon his thigh. The sight gave Caylen a burst of hope, but when Avaris bent over and swatted at his leg, the black marks came off as though they were no more than stains of soot.

"You'll need more than that to mark me, girl. But now you've made me angry."

Ilara began to dart away even before her opponent had moved, but that spared her only the first strike. The second and third rang against her sword, while the fourth tore a strip from the hem of her cloak. The fabric fluttered towards the ground, as another crack of the tendrils sent her foe hopping away. She pursued, slicing once, twice, thrice, leaving a score of glimmering gouges in the dirt. Then the exchange shifted, and the clash of claws on steel pressed her backwards. Each time she parried, each time she struck, the strands of light reached out to ensnare her attacker. But each time they came close, Avaris would twist, or dodge, or give ground, and the white trails could not quite seem to reach him.

When at last they parted, her breath was heavy, and red beads dripped from her left arm. Blood swept from a deep cut down her right cheek, and a stain spread the length of her leg, the black of her leggings growing darker.

The dust had begun to settle, but still the air grew thick. Movement from the corner of his eye caught Caylen's attention, and he felt his gaze drawn to one of the dozens of dark blemishes pulsing lazily in the air. For a moment, he watched it with apprehension, and the troubling sense that it was growing larger.

"I tire of this play, girl," Avaris drawled. As bored as he sounded, neither he nor Ilara were paying any mind to the disturbances around them… or anyone else, for that matter. The shining arrow struck him square in the back. For a second he did not move, but then his head turned, fixing Rykker with a look of disgust.

"Stay out of this, Quincy!" To Caylen's surprise, the shout came from Ilara.

"You will die soon enough," Avaris said with contempt, before turning back to the young woman. "Now, in fact, if our game is at an end."

"Far from it." Ilara drew her sword up before her, as if in salute. The tendrils of light withdrew to embrace the blade, encasing it in a glow which began to grow once more. Before the brightness washed away sight of her face, she smiled.

"_Aspect of the Arcane_."

Once more the strands came alive, unwinding from the sword, though they had multiplied several times over. They filled the air in front of the woman, twisting and swaying. And then the ground began to tremble. Throughout the square, white lashes surged forth. Every chink and slice and gouge made by the strands during the course of their battle gave birth to another, until the entire square was filled, a writhing nest of luminescence. For half a heartbeat, pale empty eyes looked around at a swaying forest of vines, deadly bright. Then at once, they all grasped for the demon. He disappeared within the tangled nest, and they pressed closer as they tightened. The buzz of their energy became a shrill whine, which grew until it had almost passed out of hearing. Just when it seemed the sound could grow no louder, an explosion ripped through the yard.

The roar was tremendous, rattling the chain links of his vest and sending a shudder deep through him. Caylen fell to his knees, shielding his eyes against the rush of grit and shards of rock. The noise seemed not to end, but only echo off into the distance, growing fainter but never ceasing. His ears would not stop ringing.

He felt it even before he could open his eyes, the terrible prickling sensation, as though a thousand tiny claws were digging at his gut, trying to draw his insides out right through his skin. When he finally grew enough resolve to look, he found that he could not tear his gaze away. The scar upon the air before him was bigger than any of the others, a churning mass of black and blue and purple as large as a castle gate and twice as sinister. Even its fellows gave it homage, wispy tendrils at their edges reaching out like favors twisting from maidens' fingers. The sight of the disturbance filled him with cold dread.

And then Avaris stepped out from behind it.

The pale human fingers of the demon's left hand seemed to brush against the edges of the blackness. Eyes as cold as they were empty looked on, and his face possessed a look of something almost like affection. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he asked.

Ilara stared. Numerous as they were, only the white tendrils about her sword remained. Their movements were slow and halting, almost subdued, as though they were dying in her hand.

"Ah, well. I would not expect you to understand such wonder," Avaris whispered. His hollow gaze never left the hole in the sky. "Though at least your master was not so disrespectful as to ignore a question."

"He was better than you, monster."

Avaris turned to regard her then. "That word again." He sounded almost disappointed. "It would be a terrible tragedy to kill all the Soulguard before even one should realize that to us, it is you who are the monsters."

"He was better than you," she repeated. "But not because of what you are. He was better than all of you. He was better than all of us. And he was better than me, too." Her face was more terrible to look on than even the black clouds; it shifted from anger to pain to fear and back again, or perhaps it was just a constant jumble of all three together. But worst of all were her eyes, and the tears glistening from their corners. She swung her sword, but not at her opponent. Half a hundred white fingers brushed the ground, and in response as many more leapt outwards. They shot towards Avaris like a flight of quarrels, white and shimmering.

The volley stopped within his grasp. He clutched them like so many strands of hair, and even when the sounds of pops and crackles emanated from his fist, he did not seem to notice. Nor did Ilara seem to care. She charged him, screaming, lashing at the earth with violent cuts, giving rise to more and more glowing tendrils. They surged at him like a great white wave, the young woman riding at its crest.

Avaris vanished in an instant, and Ilara's screams of rage turned into a single shriek of pain.

Like any wave would have, the light receded. Ilara knelt upon the dirt of the courtyard, its brown tones growing darker as the blood fed them. Her right arm ended above the elbow, with her sleeve in ragged red tatters.

Across the square, the monster swept the blood from its long white claws. "It does not have to end like this," it said. "Not like all the others. Take your friends and go, and leave this place to me."

Even from here, Caylen could hear her breath as it came in rattling sobs. The blood had stained her fingers where she had grasped her arm to stem the flow. It was a red hand that reached for the sword lying at her knees and picked it up. The light had gone from it. "I will not run," she rasped. Her voice was ragged from the timbre of her screams.

Avaris seemed curious at that. "You did before."

She struggled to her feet. "I did my duty."

He frowned. "And your duty now?"

She drew herself straight. With her left side towards Caylen, she looked almost whole again. "The Soulguard does not flee."

"I see." He sounded almost sad. "The others all said much the same. Even he."

She raised her sword. "This is just the beginning." Her words rang hollow. Even Caylen could see her weakness. Her stance was awkward, unsure, backwards. Her limbs trembled from shock and fatigue, and the blade trembled with them. She did not mean to defend, he knew then, only die with a sword in hand.

This hollow knew it, too. "No. Now it ends."

To his everlasting shame, Caylen looked away. The crash of bone on steel rang throughout the courtyard. It had long echoed away into silence before he realized that that was wrong; there should not have been a crash at all.

Avaris stood, right arm outstretched, claws striking out like spears. Ilara stood before him, tall and proud. And another woman stood between them. The beast's claws were pressed against the flat of the sword in her hand.

"Not so fast, my pale friend. That's my little sister you're trying to kill."


	7. Chapter Seven: Eye of the Storm

**Chapter Seven**

**Eye of the Storm**

The man hated his job. The hours were long, the conditions were disgusting, and the people… well, the people were the biggest problem of all. Sitting on an uncomfortable stool that sank into the mud beneath Avalon's registration pavilion, he wished for a cushion. He wished for a day without an endless line of souls waiting to be entered into the ledgers. More than anything, though, Osbert Gifford wished that he was somewhere else. It was not the first time, and would not be the last.

Another hapless peasant stood in front of him. Or so he assumed; Osbert seldom even bothered to look up anymore. He only took note of the shadow that fell across the thick tome on the table in front of him. He had grown able to tell the time by the angle of those shadows. When the day began they were off to his left. When they first fell across the edge of the left-hand pages, it was time for the midday meal. When they fell off to his right, another day would be at its merciful end. When the shade fell firmly across the ledger, as it did now, however, that was the hardest time.

"Name?" he asked.

"Gilbert. Gilbert Cobbler."

He scribbled the response at the start of a new line. "Place of birth?"

"Southampton, m'lord. Hampshire."

He wrote that in the next column. This one spoke English, at least, which saved him the effort of translating before he wrote; even that could grow wearisome by the end of the day. Osbert knew five languages, including all those most commonly spoken by the souls of Avalon. He had once been proud of that part of his erudition… until it had landed him here. "Place of death?"

"T' same, m'lord."

And so he wrote, in the shorthand he used to denote duplicates on a line. Amidst the tedium of the day, he took an instant to congratulate himself on the efficiency of his bookkeeping. He despised every moment of it, but he was too proud to permit mistakes and inaccuracy. He also knew beyond any doubt that his penmanship was the most legible and precise of any of the sixty-three clerks who took shifts on the registration queues. "Any surviving family?"

"Yessir. Me wife. Two brothers, and me mum."

The details were unnecessary, though everyone seemed to provide them unbidden. He simply marked down _Yes_. "Do you have any blood relatives predeceased within the past two years?" he asked next. After so many thousands of times, it was a conscious effort not to speak too quickly for the unlearned rabble to understand.

"Preduh… what, sir?"

Osbert swallowed a world-weary sigh. "Did any of your family die before you, within the last two years?"

"Oh. No, sir."

"Date of death?"

"T'were last Tuesday, I reckon. I was out fer a while after the horse kicked me. But I think it were Tuesday I died."

Osbert did not bother showing his annoyance as he did the calculation in his head to get a proper date. It was only the fools who had forgotten that truly vexed him any longer, and by now the souls that gave him a month, day, and a year were merely rare treasures to be enjoyed when encountered. At least this one had given him the answer to the last question, however unwittingly, he thought as he filled in the column labeled Cause.

"Very well. You may step through. The gentlemen behind me will assign you a lot number and direct you towards an area to camp."

The man shuffled on past, for which Gifford was grateful. The ones that stopped and tried to ask questions were even more troublesome than the ones that had forgotten when they died. The commotion from that fool this morning had been downright unseemly, shouting and shoving poor Wiliburt to the ground. He had heard from the others during lunch that it had not even been one of the Soulguard knights, supposedly stationed here to keep order, to settle the quarrel. Useless brutes, the lot of them. Their commander at the pavilions, Sir Leobald, could not even _read_. He shook his head and permitted himself to close his eyes for a few seconds' respite. Then he called for the next faceless refugee to step forward.

The shadow they cast was taller than he was used to, but men and women of all shapes and sizes spread their shade across his ledger through the day. "Name?"

"Ais."

He paused only a moment, to see if the man would continue. Not all the peasants had surnames, he had learned straight away. It made for frustrating bookkeeping, to be sure, though at least this one had a name that was… rather distinctive, he realized, as he wrote down _Ice_. That couldn't be right, of course, but there were doubtless a great many improper spellings throughout his entries. Some things could not be helped, and he was not about to ask everyone through the line to _spell_ their names for him; even those that could do so would have left him feeling half a fool. "Place of birth?"

"Las Noches."

He hesitated before writing. The man did not sound like a Spaniard. Not all men born to a place lived there, though. Accents were defined by residency, not birth. Of course, he was being foolish. "Place of death?"

"I do not know its name. It may not have one."

Osbert bit back another sigh, and wrote down _Wilderness_. He didn't know why this particular detail even mattered, but it was a column in the ledger, and so he asked the question. He was not about to press the poor sot for details; even if he could recall landmarks, the chances of his determining the place described were slim. "Any surviving family?"

"Oh, a great many. Five brothers, strong and fierce. And two sisters, yes, I should not be forgetting them."

More unnecessary details, Osbert thought, as he marked another simple _Yes_. He had tried several different ways of asking that question, but the only way to get the answers he wanted came off as brusque or downright rude, so instead he suffered in silence as everyone planted their family trees while he listened. "Do you have any blood relatives predeceased within the past two years?"

"Many and more, I am sad to say. Cousins, nephews, nieces, even little ones and weaklings. My family is ever growing smaller. I could give you their names, though some I am not knowing. But I fear your quill would be scritching and scratching for a good long while."

The answer was somehow disdainful, Osbert felt, but at least this one was smart enough to recognize the limited scope of his inquiries. He did not need to record a life story, only the pertinent details. That was his job, however much he might despise it. "Date of death?"

"Silly man. I do not know where I will die, or even if. How should I know when?"

That answer at last drew Osbert's eyes up from his ledger. The man standing before his station was tall and thin, wrapped in a long hooded cloak. The sun was high, and at his back. Osbert squinted up at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Are you now hard of hearing? I have said that I am not dead. I may have died once, yes, back at the beginning. But who I was then was someone different, I am thinking." The man leaned down, close enough for Osbert to feel his frigid breath. Beneath the shadow of the cloak, his skin was deathly pale. He was gaunt, almost skeletal, so much so that Gifford could see the outline of his jaw as he smiled. His mouth was thin and cruel, and his eyes were glowing like two huge gemstones, glittering and glinting, wide and bright and oh so terribly blue.

Osbert recoiled, and felt himself falling as his stool toppled over. He landed in the mud, and he found that he could not care that it would stain his breeches. He pushed himself backwards, whimpering incoherently. He knew such behavior would be drawing looks, but he did not care about that, either, as the blue-eyed thing stepped around his desk with two long strides, and began stalking towards him.

"Why do you run, I am wondering?" it asked.

Glowing at him beneath the hood, the sight of those two cobalt stars filled Osbert with a fear he could not hope to escape. Flipping himself over, he tried to rise and flee, but he lost his footing on the slick wet dirt, and went facedown in the mud. The shame of it did not even enter his mind as he began to crawl.

"You should not be turning your back on me, silly man. You should want to look. You should want to see. Yes, for what is about to happen, I think you should all want to be watching."

The man scrambled away on his hands and knees. The conditions were disgusting, and the people… well, the people all around were just no help at all. As he felt the mud sucking at his hands, he wished he could stand, and run like the swift Soulguard. He wished their shining knights would protect him. More than anything, though, Osbert Gifford wished that he was somewhere else. It was not the first time, but it would be the last.

**…**

"They are the greatest of the hollows," Verris explained to the captains of Soul Society, who had never heard of those known as Vasto Lorde. "The gillians and adjuchas we had fought for centuries were nothing in comparison, mere shadows and slaves."

"We have never seen their kind," Ise admitted. "In legends, perhaps. But nothing in living memory has spoken of such beasts."

"Nor had it here, until two years ago. They appeared at the spirit nexus, on the heels of the plague," she said. "Our Seventh Company was all but wiped out in the span of a single day. And the rest of the Soulguard may well have followed, but for Maréchal. He was our greatest knight, the champion of our order, and the strongest warrior Avalon had ever seen."

Konway smiled, but the expression was somehow sad. "He was the best of us, but even he was not enough. Not against two Vasto Lorde. All we know of the encounter are the bits and pieces that his Knight-Lieutenant was able to tell us. Maréchal was outmatched, but he sacrificed himself so she could flee, and warn Avalon of the threat. Even so, she barely escaped with her life."

"We have been contending with them ever since," the Lord Commander said. "Their battle with Maréchal made them wary, so they did not work in the open or give us a chance to hunt them down. When we had the numbers to do so, our officers traveled in small groups, hoping to draw them out and occupy them long enough for reinforcements to arrive. So instead they began attacking our burial companies, or packs of weaker knights. When they grew tired of that, they disappeared, near eight months without a sign. Towards the end, unburied souls and casualties to lesser hollows had begun to take their toll, so we had no choice but to spread out. We lost two Knight-Captains and a Knight-Lieutenant the first day after that."

"They are cunning, more human than hollow, and patient as well," said Konway. "We believe they have some plan, some motive to their attacks, but the truth is we can't be sure. It's just as likely that we are sport to them, prey to be hunted down."

"At first we had hoped to outlast them through this crisis, to survive until the plague passed and we could pursue them on our terms. Any hope of that died with my predecessor six months ago. He was slain along with the captain of Fifth Company, and a dozen seasoned knights besides. Since then, they no longer fear us as they once did, and our casualties have grown. Only twice since Maréchal has any of us survived an encounter with them to tell the tale. Two days ago, the Knight-Captain of our Second Company was ambushed. He fought for more than an hour, but was gravely wounded before he could be rescued. It was at that point that I contacted your Captain-Commander to beg for Soul Society's aid."

"Three of you have seen these Vasto Lorde and survived," Shunsui said, piecing together their struggle in his head. "Your hero's Knight-Lieutenant, this captain two days ago and…" He trailed off. As Kyoraku looked back and forth between the woman, her sword, and her shadow, he came to a troubling realization. "Commander, forgive me if I sound rude, but… You seem…"

"Weak?" Her tone was bright, as was her smile, despite the word.

"I would have said 'restrained,'" Shunsui clarified. There was more hope than honesty in his voice.

"You are not wrong, in either case," the Lord Commander said. She sheathed her sword and went back to her tall white chair, slowly lowering herself to a seat. "Maréchal's lieutenant serves us still, under Sir Tamison in Fourth Company. And our gentle giant Redolan Stórrmon, Knight-Captain of the second, is castellan of Avalon even as he recovers from his wounds. I shall not be so lucky. Even now, my time grows short."

Shunsui saw it then. Perhaps he always had, and just not wanted to believe. For once even Kyoraku was jaded, by the great tireless bull that had been leading the _Gotei_ Thirteen for centuries, and he was sure would be for centuries still. The scars covering Ol' Yama had only told him that even the greatest could be cut, not that they were just as fragile as all the rest of them. This woman lacked even the appearance of age that was Yamamoto's only blemish; she could have passed for twenty, were she still alive. Even so, the wound was there. It was writ plain upon her spirit thread, now that Shunsui had the courage to see. "I'm sorry," was all he could think to say.

"You needn't be. With you captains here, I may yet live to see these monsters dead." She stood once more and walked around the back of the white marble chair, to stand behind her soulblade. The two were of a height, and she rested her hands upon his shoulders. Beneath the hood, the shadow's head turned, and the two shared a look. Her gaze was sweet and sad. "Dear Blackguard. He is the only reason I live at all, so I cannot fault him if he will be my end as well. When the Vasto Lorde's claws severed my soul sleep, any other knight would have been doomed. But his daggers sliced the arm buried in my chest clean off its owner's shoulder. The look of shock on the devil's face as it fled was what gave me the strength to breathe. The healers said I even laughed, as they struggled in vain to mend my wound. I must confess, I do not remember, though I suppose it must be true."

Ise and Ukitake now knew what Kyoraku had first suspected. The loss of the soul sleep, which was the source of spiritual energy, was in many ways a wound far worse than death; it meant the end of one's life as a _shinigami_, with no way to regenerate or supply the _reiatsu_ which was amplified by their soul chain into spiritual power. "How long do you have, my lady?" Juushiro asked.

"My own spirit energy was all but exhausted in the battle with the Vasto Lorde," she confessed. "Blackguard persists upon what strength I have left in my sword itself. He has suppressed his power as much as he can, but it is not enough. Weeks remain to us, perhaps a month, but once the blade is depleted, we shall die."

Kyoraku tried, and failed, to conceal his dismay. He had correctly guessed at the nature of her wound, but he had not expected to hear that it was truly mortal.

"If he is your _bankai_, surely you can reseal him," Kijuro said, sounding just as shocked.

"No more than you can seal your own _zanpakuto_, good captain," she replied.

Kijuro's eyes blinked behind his spectacles, and he shifted the heavy leather-bound book cradled in his arm.

"Here in one room we have the famed sword-pairs of Ukitake and Kyoraku," said Verris with a smile. "And with them Kijuro Ise, the Mage-Knight himself, whose own _zanpakuto_ is not even a sword at all. I find myself in fitting company to admit, then, that I am the first and only Soulguard with a permanently released avatar."

Just to hear her say it aloud, Shunsui couldn't help but be impressed. The _reiatsu_ needed for a constant-release _shikai_ was enormous; perhaps one in a thousand _shinigami_ could boast of that much raw power before they were able to unseal their _zanpakuto_ for the first time. To permanently release and maintain a sword at the _bankai_ level would demand a level of spiritual energy that could only be termed obscene. Blackguard was nothing on the scale of some _bankai_ (for an instant, Shunsui tried to imagine the Captain-Commander's as being permanently released, and gave it up as a nightmare for all concerned), but even the unnatural speed and precision the cloaked shadow had exhibited in Kyoraku's close shave was staggering.

_And she had lost?_ Shunsui thought, troubled all the more.

An uneasy silence descended upon the room, but the Soulguard's tale was at an end. Captain Ise drew himself up and said, "Very well. We are here, Lord Commander, and yours to command."

There had never been any doubt in Kyoraku's mind of that decision, but the relief was plain on the faces of the Lord Commander and her knights. _Small wonder. We've just doubled their combat strength, or near enough_.

"Do you have a plan for facing these enemies with our help?" Ukitake asked.

"If you need bait, I'll volunteer," Kyoraku said, slipping on a sly grin. "I'm quite noticeable, you see."

"That you are, captain," Verris agreed, smiling. "But that will not be necessary. The Vasto Lorde no longer go everywhere in pairs; the attacks upon Sir Redolan and myself were both by one of them alone. They have grown careless of late, thinking that we lack the strength to face them without risking the safety of Avalon. They thought rightly, until now."

"They have also grown sloppy and predictable. And it is with that weakness we mean to tighten the noose about their necks. In recent days, their favored tactic has been to—" Sir Konway trailed off, as the sound of commotion and raised voices reached them from the hall beyond.

Sir Tamison wheeled about in a swirl of his white cloak, throwing open the doors to the solar. "—let me pass!" a voice cried out, clear as the day outside. "I must see the Lord Commander at once!"

"What is the meaning of this?" Silverrose called out. Over his shoulder, Shunsui could see the two spearmen who had guarded the exterior doors. Their weapons were crossed to bar the passage of a young woman, hooded and cloaked, and she struggled against the men as they tried to press her back outside. The guards froze at Tamison's shout, as did the girl.

Verris came forward, brushing between Kijuro and Sir Tamison as she strode towards the outer doors. The rest of them followed. The spearmen stood aside and snapped to attention, though they kept their eyes upon the girl. When she saw the Lord Commander, however, she went to one knee and drew back her hood, revealing a head of long auburn hair and a youthful, pretty face.

"Sereh?" the Lord Commander said. She sounded confused. "You should not be here. If your lord father were to know—"

"My lady, please hear me out, I beg you!" the girl said. Her eyes were twin emeralds, sparkling green and earnest. "I came straight from Cormier's sanctum, I knew this could not wait. I saw the signs, the ones Lara told me of. I watched the ley lines, like she asked, and I saw them, just like she said!"

"Take a breath, girl," Sir Tamison said. His tone was not unkind. "What did you see?"

"It's the nexus!" she almost shouted. There was fear all through her voice. "Lara told me, stay there, for she must go. She said to watch the ley lines for her, and if I saw a twist just so," she made a gesture with her hands, crossing them over one another like a helix, "'Run and tell the others,' she said, 'and don't wait one instant before you do!'"

"Tell us what?" Sir Konway said.

The girl glanced at the man in his black armor, but it was straight at Tamison she looked. "She said, 'tell him it's begun.'"

The silver knight went white, his face turning paler than his cloak. "No…" he gasped. He seemed about to bolt from the chamber, but the Lord Commander stayed him with a word.

"Sir! Hold your ground. What does she mean?"

"She warned us, Lord Commander. She warned us a hundred times. We all laughed at her, even Sighris, but she would just warn us again."

"Not this story," Konway rumbled. "Not again. Sir, I know you defend her honor, but this talk of coming doom has become a madness in her. Ever since that day, the poor woman has been half-lost with grief—"

"Hold your tongue, sir!" Tamison snapped, fury in his eyes. "I laughed with all the rest of them, as well you know. I even tried to dissuade her from speaking so openly about her thoughts. But I will not believe she would lie. Not in this, and not _like_ this," he said, pointing at the girl kneeling to his side.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," said Kyoraku, stepping forward. "But what in all the heavens is going on?"

The girl Sereh looked surprised, as though she had never noticed the three men in kimonos standing there. Something about his pink _haori_ seemed to startle her into speech. "Lara taught me about the balance. The others didn't believe her, but she taught me the cantrips and showed me the ley lines, and I saw! The plague's destroying it, and the Quincy, too, just as surely as the hollows they slay. The balance is tipping, and soon it will break."

"The scale," Kijuro breathed. "The girl speaks of the scale of souls."

"You know of this?" Sir Konway asked. His disbelief was plain.

"A theory of mine," the _kido_ master replied. "I came across it almost by chance. When the plague first began we had a report, from one of our local Quincy retinues. They pursued a group of hollows near the _juureichi_, before it moved, and destroyed them there. But they spoke of odd sightings, distortions in the air. I would have thought nothing of it, but one of the archers had been killed in the fighting… and his spirit, when it reached Soul Society, was the first in the afterlife to show symptoms of the plague, as far as I can tell. I have not had time for detailed study. But my initial findings show that many souls in proximity to hollows when they are slain by Quincy are strangely vulnerable to the disease.

"We have known for many years that hollows are not purified by Quincy weapons. Their souls do not reach the afterlife, and we presume they are destroyed. But until the plague and our unusually high reliance on the Quincy, we had not seen deaths in an extent sufficient to see that this had any effect on either world."

"What are you saying, _sempai_?" questioned Kyoraku. This was the first he had heard of any of this, though that was not too great a surprise. When his friend began to speak of _kido _theory, Shunsui often felt a nap coming on.

"I'm saying that we never stopped to wonder where all the souls of hollows go when they are destroyed. It stands to reason that at some point, new souls would cease to reach Soul Society. And as they are reborn to the living world from there, and then stand the chance of dying and being consumed by a hollow that is then destroyed… it is a cycle, you see. And one that would at some point remove all souls from existence entirely."

The air had grown very still, there in the meeting hall of Avalon. "That's just what Lara said," Sereh spoke up once more. "It's why she had me watch the ley lines, the currents of magic and spirit energy. The Quincy twist them up, and there's only so far they can bend."

Kijuro looked at her, eyes thoughtful behind their glinting lenses. "You are gifted, young lady. I never thought of it that way before, and yet you saw it plain as day. This Lara taught you well."

"Lara's just what I call her, sir," the girl replied, blushing prettily at the praise.

"She is her apprentice, of a sort," Sir Tamison explained. "She's the only one who calls her that… or that has survived doing so, anyway. A fierce temper my Knight-Lieutenant has, the Lady Ilara Shei."

"Fierce, indeed. And stubborn, too," the Lord Commander said. "Would that we had listened sooner. If there is aught amiss at the spirit nexus, we must find out at once. Sir Konway, send a runner to the gate at Templar Square. If there is news from the living world, I want it now."

"No need for that, my lady," Kyoraku said first. Then the rest of them saw it, too. Through the doorway across the yard, a half-dozen men had emerged from the outer bailey. Their dress was as varied as their faces, but all wore cloaks of white. Tamison stepped forward to meet them as they approached.

"Sir Baros. Sir Edwin. What brings you back to the Towers?"

Their faces were grave as they saluted. The one that spoke, whom Tamison had named Sir Baros, was a great stout keg of a man, almost wide enough to hide his cloak. "I beg t' report, milord. We come on orders from m'lady, to raise the alarm. There's hollows at the spirit nexus, hunnerds at th' least. Three groups, an' word o' a fourth just as we stepped through."

"Where is Lieutenant Shei?" Tamison barked.

"In th' town, milord. She an' some o' the other greycloaks is there. Sir Danross has command o' the perim'ter, with the rest o' the knights less me an' Edwin."

"This is our chance, Lord Commander," said Sir Konway. "We know what follows next."

Sir Tamison spun from his subordinates, and went to one knee before Verris. "Lord Commander, I beg your leave to return to Esprit. I can accompany the captains—"

"No," she cut him off, in a tone that brooked no quarrel. "We have discussed this. I will not leave this place defenseless."

"But—"

"No arguments, sir. Two Knight-Captains must remain in Avalon at all times. Even your departure to the countryside to escort the captains here was a risk I was loath to accept."

"Sir Aaren holds the Vicar's Gate, and Sir Redolan—"

"Enough! Sir Aaren is an able man, but his rank is an honor, nothing more. And Sir Redolan and I are in no fit state to defend the city if need be. You and Sir Konway must remain in Avalon." Tamison looked fit to gag, but the Lord Commander left him to his rage, turning to Kyoraku and his fellow _shinigami_. "Attacks such as this one have preceded appearances by the Vasto Lorde for the last few weeks. I know we ask a great deal of you so soon, but an opportunity has arisen, and we dare not let it pass."

"Don't worry about that," Kyoraku replied. "I've always hated long waits."

Verris smiled. As they had just clearly seen, her elegance had a fierce edge to it, but she was not shy with her smiles. Kyoraku had known her all of an hour, but he would miss them all the same. "Sir Baros shall escort you to the nearest gate," she said. "You will—"

She was interrupted by the arrival of another pair of Soulguard in the yard. They ran up, heads bobbing behind the high starched collars of their dark blue cloaks. They were breathing heavily, and Shunsui noticed that one of the men was bleeding from a cut above his eye. "Lord Commander! Riots outside the city!"

"What?" Tamison snapped.

"The registration pavilions were set ablaze," the man went on. "The fires spread through the camps, and now the crowds are storming the market town, stampeding through the streets."

"Of all the bloody timing," Sir Konway cursed. "Who has the command out there?"

The man who had reported quailed beneath Blackallen's gaze. "Sir Leobald did, my lord, but he was at the pavilions when they went up. No one's seen him since."

The Lord Commander tore her attention from the new crisis to look at Kyoraku. "More is at stake here than a few fires and unruly souls. I fear you must leave now. You must reach the gate."

"Are you certain?" Ise asked. "If this riot spreads into the city…"

"Avalon is stone, good captains," Verris reminded them. "She shall not burn easily, not while the Soulguard defends her walls. But for that to endure, much depends on you. Go now, with all our hopes and blessings. May your blades prove stronger than ours."


	8. Chapter Eight: Birds of Prey

**Chapter Eight**

**Birds of Prey**

The town square of Esprit was deathly silent. Even the wind had held its breath, waiting for the hollow to claim another victim. Hissing like some serpent, Avaris leapt backwards, retreating from the newcomer.

She stood between Ilara and the thing that had all but killed her, and looked over her shoulder. "You seem to have misplaced an arm, sweet sister."

"Sighris? Why are you here?"

"Silly girl. To save you, of course. If you came to harm, Sir Tamison would never forgive me." Her head cocked to one side, and she appeared to realize something important. "Oh. I suppose it's too late for that, then. He'll have to content himself with you still breathing. I suppose that will be enough; he has not voiced complaint about that poor face of yours."

In some mad tribute to the insanity of the moment, the young woman actually blushed. "Sighris! This is my Knight-Captain you're speaking of!"

"Yes, and if you wanted to impress him, you should have known that battle scars do not become a lady." She shook her head. "Poor girl. Your luck always has been rotten."

The two were as alike as sisters, it was obvious at a glance. Even so, it was just as apparent that the two could not have been more different. Both were tall and comely with long blond hair, but where Ilara's hair was straight, a pale flaxen yellow, Sighris had a mane of thick bobbed curls, rich as beaten gold. Ilara was refined, stately appose, but Sighris was lithe and graceful. Where Ilara was slim, Sighris was slender, and while Ilara was pretty, Sighris was beautiful.

In any other scene, her outfit would have shamed men to look at her. Knee-high boots of smoke-grey gave way to leggings of black leather, supple as sin and tight as skin. A thick belt was wrapped about a dancer's hips, and to call what she wore a shirt was only courtesy. It was a vest of white silk, buttoned at her midsection, and it parted above to reveal an ample chest, and below a trim flat stomach. It was long, trailing down the back of her legs almost like a cloak, but it bared her back, arms, and shoulders.

Perhaps it was the incongruity of it all that made Caylen laugh aloud.

The sound drew the newcomer's eyes. They were perhaps her best feature, which was saying quite a lot. Their color was a smoky bluish-grey, dark and deep yet alight with mischief… and in spite of her demeanor, they seemed focused and perceptive as she peered at him through the thick fall of her hair. "A mortal? And who is this? Ilara, have you been bewitching feyseers again?"

"_Sister!_ We don't have time for this."

"We can all make time for a handsome young man, surely. Oh, not you, Rykker, but hello all the same. Still keeping that brown cat strapped to your head, I see. A pity, though I admit it serves you better than a tonsure. I abhor that priestly fashion; men's heads should not look like bird's nests."

"I do hate to interrupt this amusing reunion—"

"Then don't, you twit," she shot at Avaris. The hollow's head actually jerked back, and his empty, pale eyes blinked. "Meeting you has already been a colossal disappointment, don't compound it by being impolite. For two years all I've heard has been hemming and hawing and hand-wringing about you Vasto Lorde. Finally you come in reach of my blade, and you're no taller than I am. I expected a giant, to have slain all my gallant brothers. Speaking of brothers, where's yours, anyway?"

_This woman is insane_, thought Caylen.

"Elsewhere," Avaris replied. If he found the woman's demeanor offsetting, he hid it well. In fact, he seemed almost amused.

"Well, I can see _that_. Whistle him over, why don't you. I'm in no hurry."

"Unnecessary. By myself I can kill you as fast – or as slowly – as I please."

"So you say, but I don't recall fighting you before. I'd remember a face like yours, I'm sure. And those unsightly nails… really, you hollows are so terribly unoriginal with your weaponry. Why, sometimes I enjoy thrashing a menos just to remind myself you can use _cero_. With the rest of you its claws, teeth, more claws, more teeth…"

"They serve," said Avaris. Unless Caylen was going mad – and by now he was far from sure on that point – the hollow actually sounded hurt.

Sighris chose that moment to notice the swarm of black patches that was infesting the town. When he saw her looking around, for an instant Caylen was even more confused; her flighty antics had taken them all off-guard. "And what's this, now? Did another one of your experiments go awry, sister? And here in the spirit nexus, to boot. The Lord Commander will be very cross with you, you know how she gets."

"Sighris, what are you _doing_?!" Ilara said, incredulous.

"This." She vanished.

Caylen heard the slash before he even knew where to look. Avaris was reeling backwards, a black gash across his chest from hip to shoulder. The Vasto Lorde made no sound, except for the succession of crashes that came from his claws where he blocked Sighris' blade. Her words may have been wild, but her swordplay was exquisite. The sounds were coming so quickly that they seemed to run together, a rapid chime of steel on bone which filled the town with song. Her weapon was no more than a blur to Caylen, but her balance was perfect, her footwork immaculate. Legs and hands and arms all moved with the fluidity of a dance. The woman's form was flawless, and merciless as well. She did not relent, not even for an instant, and the hollow could not get off his heels. More black gashes were appearing; on his arms, his legs, more on his chest. None were as deep as the first, which Avaris still clutched at with his left arm, but he was hard-pressed.

Sighris drove at him, moving faster still. She was forcing him towards the largest of the rifts, there in the center of the courtyard. He seemed to feel it, and despite his earlier words to Ilara did not seem eager to get too close, but his opponent gave him no respite. The individual blows had been too fast to see from the very beginning, but now they grew too fast to hear. It was all a single sound, one long, high chorus of chimes, like the sound of a sword on a grinding stone. It was music to his ears.

A note was struck, louder than the rest, and it became the last of the refrain. It faded away into the air, punctuated by the rough thud of Avaris' right hand dropping to the ground. The Vasto Lorde gaped at the stump with incredulity, there where his limb ended at the wrist. A slow trickle of black blood ran back towards his elbow.

"That was for my sister, you soulless scum." Sighris drew back her sword, leveling it point-first at his chest, and thrust.

He caught it with his left hand. The blade quivered, an inch from where his heart would be had he been a man. The point seemed to creep forward, ever so slightly, but stopped again. Avaris held up his right arm, and with horror Caylen watched the blackness at the end of the pale flesh begin to bubble and seethe. The hollow's face was twisted in discomfort, and through the grip of his left hand the sword slid forward another hairsbreadth. Black rivulets were running along the blade's edge from where his hold tightened. With a sickening sound, from the ruin of his right wrist a new hand burst forth, even paler than the rest of him. Sighris leapt backwards, pulling her sword from his grasp, so close to that killing spot.

"Well done," Avaris said. His voice was rough, and he flexed his left hand, closed, open, and closed again. He never took his empty gaze from Sighris for an instant. "Well done, indeed."

"Not well enough. You're still standing."

"True. But the praise was honest. I have not often been cut by the likes of the Soulguard."

"Don't boast. I know you've taken wounds. Sir Redolan and Nightstep both gave as good as they got. Talicore too. And the ground was as black as that stump of yours where we found Antony."

Avaris did not smile. "My brother has been careless, perhaps, from time to time. He relies on high-speed regeneration more than he should." As he spoke, the gash in his chest seemed to knit itself closed. Most of the cuts on the rest of his body had already disappeared.

"I don't see you tossing away that crutch."

The Vasto Lorde held up its right hand, which had re-grown identical to the left. As they watched, its nails began to extend, reaching out from his fingertips, until they were as long and straight as before. He moved his fingers about, and four long, thin blades danced there in the sunlight. "Hollows and Soulguard. We each have our gifts, and we each make use of them where we can. Or do you intend not to release your sword?"

"Do you think I'll need to?"

"The crow calls the raven black, and you tell me not to boast?"

"A crow, you say? I think not." Sighris drew herself to her full height: six feet if she was an inch in her heeled grey boots. She held out her arms, tilted her head backwards, and closed her eyes.

"_Soar, Stormhawk!_"

From the smooth skin of her back, two diaphanous wings took shape. They wove themselves from wisps of sunlight, glittering like a rain shower on a bright spring day. Unfurling as if to take flight, they stretched towards the sky, reaching far above her head, ten feet from back to tip. Pale feathers clear as crystals rustled in the breeze.

"You have your wish, hollow. Now do try and keep up." The wings beat the air, and she flew.

The Vasto Lorde looked up, then jumped aside as Sighris dove, swooping through the spot where he had stood like a falcon diving at a mouse. Her wing raked his back as she passed above, leaving a handful of black gashes on his pale skin. She gained altitude again, and seemed to hover above the rooftops, even when her wings folded in behind her. The hollow jumped into the sky to meet her, and in another clash of bone on steel they disappeared.

Caylen heard the sounds, but his eyes could not follow them any longer. Here and there were glimpses of what might have been sunlight caught upon a crystalline wing, but the battle was beyond his sight. Ilara, however, was not. She had slumped back to the ground, leaning heavily on her left arm to try and stay upright. Her eyes were tracking the combat shifting through the sky above. The knight went to her side and without a word tore a strip from her white cloak, along the ragged edge where the hollow's claws had sliced it. He made to wrap it above the end of her right arm.

Her face was streaked and dirty, covered in blood and sweat and pain. She looked at him strangely. "Have you always been able to touch spirits?"

He looked up from dressing her wound, brow furrowed. "I think so, yes. Is that strange?"

"Precious few of the living can interact with spirit particles, even among feyseers." She winced as he pulled at the makeshift tourniquet above the ruin of her arm. "I might have been grateful if you were not one of those few."

"I apologize, milady, but your wounds are grave. If you were any living woman, I would fear for your survival. The arm is bad enough, but that gash on your leg is deep, and the cut on your face needs tending."

"Bind my leg, if you must. But touch my face, and I won't be the only one here less a hand."

Caylen smiled at that; he was _almost_ certain she was jesting. "I will need to find something to clean the wounds…"

"That won't be necessary," she said. "Souls can be cut and bleed, but we do not suffer fever or sickness as humans do, nor does our flesh mortify."

He tore another large strip from her cloak to bind her leg. "How fortunate for you," he said, sounding doubtful. Relatively few men died cleanly in battle, he knew; most casualties were from disease or festered wounds, sometimes days afterwards. It was not a pleasant way to die, even when compared to having your head caved in with an axe.

"You sound as one with some knowledge of such… unpleasant experiences."

He glanced up. "Me? Oh, not as such. The men like to joke that my name should be 'Caylen Nevercut.' I have been lucky, I suppose, but not so much as that. At Caen a French man-at-arms shoved a dagger through the back of my pauldron, and I took an arrow in the leg at the Battle of Blanchetaque. The latter fray won me my knighthood, so I shan't complain."

She gritted her teeth as he started to wrap the bandage about her thigh. "It is good you are a knight. You would make a terrible surge-aahn!" her words were eclipsed by a choked gasp when he jostled her leg.

"Sorry, milady. I fear I'm in a hurry." He glanced over his shoulder, towards where the sounds of the clash continued in the sky. "Do you think your sister can win this battle?"

"Against a Vasto Lorde on her own?" Her voice was grim, and Caylen hoped it was only because of his efforts as a physician.

"She looks to be a better sword than any man I know. I could barely see her movements."

"I'm surprised you could follow her at all. She is a fine warrior, I'll admit, perhaps even the best sword we have left, but…" Her voice trailed off.

"Is she quite mad?" Caylen asked. Even the finest fighter could be undone by himself, and the way the woman had been talking…

Ilara actually laughed, though the sound died away quickly to be replaced by shudders of pain. "You must not judge her by words alone, little knight. She often plays such games. Even rising through the Soulguard men would take her lightly, if not for her gender, then for her beauty. Feeding those impressions has become a part of her. I think… that she enjoys it."

There was a strange note in her voice which Caylen could not quite place. "You love her well, my lady."

Ilara frowned. "She is my sister."

"And as different from you as night from day." He smiled knowingly. "I have a brother, milady. He is twenty years my elder, and for knocking loose one of my nephew's teeth in the practice yard, he packed me off to squire at ten. Still, I love him, too."

"Doubtless you deserved it. If your play was as rough as your efforts to dress these wounds, it's a wonder you didn't kill the boy."

It was Caylen's turn to laugh. "The 'boy' was fifteen, and a squire soon to be knighted. He thought to prove his worth by bullying his little uncle, but in the end my brother sent me away to prevent further shame from tarnishing his heir. Still, you are not wrong. From the day I took up a broken broomstick, straight until the one they put a real sword in my hand, I was a wicked lad. I still am, as it happens." He had finished the bandages on her leg, tended to the long, shallow gash down her left forearm… and cleaned the cut on her face, as well. "That is all I can do for now."

Ilara seemed surprised when she realized he was done, but recovered herself quickly. "Thank you, sir," she said. Her voice said far more than that. She knew, as Caylen did, that the exercise had been nothing more than a distraction from their helplessness. Both were grateful for it, all the same.

She narrowed her eyes, watching the sky for several seconds. Caylen knew he could not see the fight she followed, so he watched her instead. Her eyes grew wide. "Get down!" she yelled, twisting over to push him to the ground beside her.

The shock of the impact was so strong Caylen would have sworn that whatever had just crashed to the earth had landed right on top of them. When he finally forced his eyes open, he realized that for once he was not far wrong. Less than ten feet away, through a cloud of dust, a figure was struggling to their feet. As the haze began to clear, the shape became Sighris. One of her crystalline wings was badly crumpled; as they watched, it shook itself out with halting motions and the crinkle of broken glass. Sighris herself was in better shape, though not by a great margin. Her clothes were badly torn, half the trail of her shirt was missing, and there were slashes across her legs. There were cuts all over both arms as well, and another on her stomach, but at least none of the wounds looked deep.

"I pray you got word to Avalon, sweet sister," Sighris said. Her gaze never left the sky. "This little game won't go on forever."

"Sir, help me stand." Caylen knew better than to argue, and lent Ilara a hand. She leaned on him, though not so hard as he would have expected, given her wounds. "I sent the company back with word. It should not be much longer now."

"I hope you're right." The woman tensed, and Avaris came back into view.

The Vasto Lorde floated down, light as a feather. He looked worse off than Sighris, his body crisscrossed with deep black gouges and cuts. Unlike the woman's wounds, however, his were closing as they watched. "Invigorating, isn't it?" he breathed deep of the dust-filled air. "I'd almost forgotten what it was like."

"Why spoil sweet memories? Let me cut off your head, and they'll be the last thoughts you have."

"I have a better idea." The hollow grinned its empty grin. Raising its left arm, it began to flex its hand. Swift as arrows, four more long claws sprang outwards from the fingers.

Sighris groaned. "Is that all you hollows can do? If your aim is to bore me to death by volume, it's working, I assure you."

Avaris kept grinning, and flicked his hand again. As if the motion had shaken them loose, four tendrils dropped from the tips of his claws, and another one from the end of his thumb. They glowed a sullen red, filling the air with an unpleasant buzz. Where they teased across the ground it blackened and smoked. "_Cero látigo_," he announced.

"That's more like it," Sighris cooed. "But if you're going to fight with all your claws, then so shall I." She took hold of her sword with both hands, lowering it until it was level with her belt, its point held even with her eyes. Her crystal wings folded around her, strands of woven glass detaching to twist about the weapon. Rainbows danced across her body where the pennons caught the light. Soon the sword itself seemed aglow with many colors, red and blue and yellow shifting up and down.

"_Roc_," she called, and at the word, the colors and the sword both seemed to split. Sundered straight down the middle, the two halves bent and swayed and seemed to grow. Her feathers flew wide, spreading high in all their crystalline glory, and with a gust of wind from beaten wings, the shapes from the sword seemed to leap into the sun. "_Avatar of Sky!_"

Caylen blinked against the brightness after the sudden movement had drawn his gaze straight into a harsh yellow glare. Through the spots in his vision, it seemed to him as though a rainbow had descended upon the town. The dirt of the square was awash with light and color, shifting and dancing. With a sharpness that sent shivers through his body, he heard an eagle scream.

Shielding his eyes, he watched the great hawk descend. It was the largest animal, bird or beast, he had ever seen. The beat of its wings were deep as drums as it settled to the ground. It was made of the same pure crystal that formed Sighris' wings, from the wicked points of its talons to the curve of its noble beak. With its own wings spread, they were thirty feet from tip to tip, and it had to bend almost to the ground for Sighris to stroke the glittering feathers of its neck.

For an instant Caylen thought she meant to hop upon its back, but instead the woman turned to face the Vasto Lorde, sword in hand. With hastening steps she began to approach him, and behind her Roc took flight. "Be careful now, my little white friend," she sang out as she charged. "You'll find out very soon that all our talons are quite sharp."

**…**

A dozen eyes were fixed upon her, but if Yoruichi Shihouin had ever been nervous before a mission, no one here would know it from her face. "This will be the largest concurrent operation staged by the _Onmitsukido_ in more than ten years," she began. "With ongoing actions in the living world, the Patrol Corps does not have sufficient personnel available to execute this plan without serious risk of failure. That is why I have asked you all here this evening."

They had gathered in the common room of one of the _Gotei_ Thirteen barracks on the outskirts of the _Seireitei_. There was no telling when the attacks on the gates would begin, so they had thought it prudent to hold the briefing in a place with easy access to the targets they would be defending.

"We have ninety-six individual points of engagement, all of which could encounter anywhere from a class-three to a class-five spirit vagrant."

Across the table, Urahara whistled, his eyebrows disappearing into the unruly bangs of his sandy hair. "Class-five? Lieutenant, are you sure you've removed me from the rolls of the attackers? I'm not still working for the _mononoke_, I promise."

"I don't know, Urahara-_san_," Sixth Division Lieutenant Chichibu Maruta said. "You always have struck me as kinda shifty."

"Why, thank you Maruta-_fukutaicho_. I do believe I'm flattered."

"Quiet," Yoruichi barked, trying to suppress her smile. "Yes, third seat, that estimate does not include you in the opposing forces. These rogue _kido_ users are to be engaged with every precaution. Two of my men were killed during surveillance, and I want no false impressions. This isn't some bar brawl of common souls we're breaking up."

"We'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant," Maruta said, sketching a mock salute. He would make a joke about anything, and laughed at everything else, but his reputation for obedience when it counted was unquestioned. One didn't survive as the lieutenant to Ginrei Kuchiki any other way.

"Before we get into the details here, are you all aware of the current situation in the living world?" Yoruichi asked.

"I've been on a solo sweep of the eastern districts for the last two days," Ninth Division Lieutenant Kensei Muguruma said. "I'm a little out of the loop."

"Well, the latest news is that our live-side staging areas have now suffered fourteen attacks since last night. Reports indicate at least two adjuchas are leading a concentrated offensive against us."

"Ouch," said Kensei. "I wondered what the buzz was about when you called me in."

"This is more than buzz. I've asked you and Lieutenant Maruta here personally because both of your captains have been recalled from duty in _Rukongai_ for emergency deployment to the living world," Yoruichi said to the 6th and 9th Lieutenants. "They entered the _Senkaimon_ with the Captain-Commander and his lieutenant about an hour ago."

"Yamamoto himself is heading out?" Muguruma gaped at the news. The young lieutenant was usually a pretty cool customer, but his silver-white eyebrows almost disappeared into his close-cropped shock of like colored hair at that revelation.

Yoruichi nodded. "Captain Unohana of Fourth Division has been left in command of the _Seireitei_ for the time being. Suffice it to say that if we have to call her away from the infirmary to help with our operation, the _mononoke_ would probably get off easier than us."

"_Ai, ai_, let's not even think about that," Urahara protested with a shudder.

"Why wasn't Captain Ukitake left in command?" Maruta wondered.

"I was informed that the captains of 8th, 12th, and 13th are on some mission that no one was supposed to know about," Yoruichi replied. "There wasn't any hiding it after they weren't there for the emergency deployment. Be that as it may, with no captain available and primary responsibility invested in the Patrol Corps, operational command of this mission falls to me."

Around the table, most of them nodded their assent. Urahara gave her a fleeting smile. One of them laughed. "Command? You?"

Yoruichi's eyes never looked more like a cat's than when she gazed upon someone with displeasure. And that gaze was now squarely focused on Keiji Kusunoki, Lieutenant of Twelfth Division. "Yes, Lieutenant. Me. Is there some other deputy commander of the _Onmitsukido_ that I haven't had the pleasure of meeting?"

"Funny. But we're not some squad of ninja peeping in on a few AWOL _shinigami_. Since when do they let little girls order combat troops around?"

Yoruichi smiled, but the expression set the hairs on Urahara's neck to standing. Those two golden eyes glittered, and Kisuke wondered if his foolish superior knew yet that he had just become a mouse. "Why, ever since little girls have been strong enough to take an adjuchas' head off with their bare hands. I didn't even break a nail."

Kusunoki grinned, showing a mouth full of yellowed teeth. "I guess they don't teach the difference between hollows and menos at the academy these days."

"I'm sure they do, Lieutenant. I remember sleeping through that lecture quite clearly," Urahara said. He watched with some trepidation as a thick neck swiveled to bring two beady black eyes to bear.

"If I wanted your opinion, sandy, I'd ask for it."

Keiji Kusunoki was a veteran _shinigami_, but that was the sum total of his positive attributes to anyone who knew him. He had risen through the ranks of 11th Division on a reputation of battle prowess, but there had always been whispers that accompanied his rise. Adjectives like _cruel_ and _brutal_ came up quite often… and from the mouths of men like the _kenpachi_'s thugs, those terms meant something else entirely. He had never killed anyone he shouldn't have – that they knew of – and knew when to hold his tongue when superior officers were around, but he was universally despised by every subordinate he had ever come across. Whatever his personal failings, considering his combat record he should have made lieutenant years before he did, but that was no coincidence. It was not until the spot beneath Captain Kijuro Ise opened up that any captain offered him the position. Ise was no man's fool, and posted Kusunoki as far away from any real authority as possible. The captain had kept him running after every stray hollow in the four corners of the living world for almost two decades, but no one, not even a brute like Kusunoki, was stupid enough to speak out against the man whose only senior in the entire _Gotei_ Thirteen was Yamamoto himself. Keiji had the rank, but for all intents and purposes it was Urahara who served as Ise's lieutenant, and the entire company knew it. The problem with that was Kusunoki knew it too.

"Ah, _gomen_, Lieutenant," Urahara said. "Consider my opinions to be at your exclusive disposal." He donned his most boyish, disarming smile... perhaps knowing that it would just raise the big man's ire.

Kusunoki rumbled from deep in the back of his throat, but turned back to Yoruichi. "So, princess, where are you putting your men?" he sneered.

"As your roster is currently off of active duty, the Twelfth Division is tasked as a reserve force for this operation. Don't worry, we'll never need you," Yoruichi said. She twisted the last words like a dagger in the big man's gut.

Kusunoki growled. "Then maybe I'll just have to find some way to have fun… afterwards." His leer at Yoruichi made the implication obvious.

"Quiet, fool," a voice cut through the exchange like a wall of ice. "You are a member of the Thirteen Court Guardian Divisions, and will speak to your peers with respect."

Kusunoki turned to regard the speaker. "And if I don't?"

"Then the rest of us will draw lots to see who has the pleasure of gelding you. Assuming we can find any manhood to cut off."

Like a feral beast, Kusunoki roared. He would have lunged over the table, but the instant he raised a fist a freezing blast of wind threw him bodily across the room. He slammed against the far wall, and within seconds he was pinned there by razor-thin wires of frost. Icicles had formed in his unkempt beard, and trickles of blood trailed from where the ice touched his bare skin. Several lines had been drawn over the brute's face and mouth.

To accomplish this display, Michiko Kuchiki had not even needed to draw her _zanpakuto_. She stood next to Yoruichi, hands clasped behind her back. Tall and regal, with high cheekbones and pristine skin, her noble blood was evident. Her hair was a lighter shade of black that could almost be deep brown. Her three-piped _kenseikan_ was worn almost sideways, as her hair was swept about the back of her neck and behind her left ear, styled into a point just below the front of her left shoulder. Thin eyebrows were arched above light brown eyes which often bore the heavy-lidded, vaguely superior expression of one with Kuchiki lineage, but were at the moment narrowed with contempt. "You'll thaw down in a few minutes. In the meantime, the rest of us can accomplish something."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Yoruichi said. She was not bothering to suppress her smile this time; if anything, she looked a little jealous that the other woman had struck first. "As the senior lieutenant of the _Gotei_ Thirteen, you will be my second in command."

Michiko's reply was a stately nod.

"I have enough Patrol Corps operatives to serve as scouts and combat assistance for each of the ninety-six points of engagement," Yoruichi went on. "To ensure the successful defense of every point, I will ask each of your companies to provide one _shinigami_ to partner with these operatives. Seated officers will be preferred for the locations expected to receive the most attention from our targets, as indicated by Third Seat Urahara."

"What about the active gates themselves?" Maruta wondered.

"We can only assume these will be the highest-priority targets for the _mononoke_. You and Lieutenant Muguruma will take the western gate. Lieutenant Kuchiki will have the southeastern. Myself and Urahara will defend the northern _Senkaimon_."

"Should we shut down traffic?" Kensei wondered. "It will be almost impossible to spot anyone in the crowds until they actually start casting their _kido_. Things might get rough."

Yoruichi shook her head. "We can't risk tipping off our targets. Even several _Kido _Corps officers can't close a gate in less than a few minutes, so we'll just have to keep our eyes open and stop them once they reveal themselves. My patrolmen have been briefed on what to look for; stick close to them, and you'll find your targets before they finish casting, even in a crowd."

"Sounds simple enough," said Maruta. "Just one more question."

"What's that?"

"Do you want the _mononoke _in one piece, or several?" The edge on his smile made the question not entirely a jest.

"We want them alive, preferably. But that comes after both stopping their attempts to collapse the gates and _reishii_ fluxes, and your own safety. Tell your men to use their judgment."

Yoruichi looked around the table, but no more questions were forthcoming. "Very well. It's almost sunset, we may not have much time. You'll find a Patrol Corps liaison at your regional command posts; I'll leave the specifics of deployment up to you. Good luck."

The lieutenants filed out of the room. Yoruichi and Urahara followed, passing by Kusunoki, still frozen to the wall. A stream of indecipherable growls and grunts were all he could manage, along with a murderous stare that looked rather impotent under the circumstances.

"I hope my lieutenant isn't too uncomfortable," Urahara commented once they were outside. "The ice is thawing rather slowly."

"It's been unseasonably cool."

"There is that. Though I believe it has more to do with Lieutenant Kuchiki being unseasonably angry."

"You noticed that too, huh?" Yoruichi observed. They passed beyond the walls of the _Seireitei_, and were now making for the northern _Senkaimon_. Their ability to carry on a conversation whilst flash stepping was something of a legend among the thirteen divisions. "Apparently no one informed her that Captain Ukitake was even out of the infirmary, let alone going on a top-secret mission."

"She's rather protective of him, I take it."

"That's an understatement. She won't leave his side… not than anyone in thirteenth would. Rumor has it she's been offered a captaincy no less than three times so far."

Urahara blinked. "I didn't even know she had reached her _bankai_. Is she trying to hide it?"

"You're one to talk," Yoruichi chortled. "But yes, she has tried rather hard to keep it a secret. And not all because of Ukitake, if the stories are true."

"Ohhh?" Urahara drew out the word, as he often did when scenting a particularly juicy rumor.

"Yes, _ohhh_. Captain Kuchiki is the only other clan member to have achieved _bankai_ in the last six generations. If it were to become widely known, such a lofty achievement would bring shame upon the senior branch of the Kuchiki clan."

Kisuke's mouth twisted in disappointment. "Bah. You know how much I despise dynastic politics."

One manicured Shihouin eyebrow arched upwards at that. "I realize you come from _Rukongai_, but you've spent long enough around me to know how important such matters are."

His grin was playful and apologetic at the same time. "Ah, _gomen_. But why else do you think I despise them so much, but for how much of your valuable attention they take up?"

Yoruichi smiled, seeming satisfied by the answer. "Well, regardless, Michiko is from the _lesser_ branch of Kuchikis. Ginrei is her grandfather's older brother."

"Oh? Captain Kuchiki doesn't seem a bad sort. For a noble."

Yoruichi ignored the jibe. "He's not. The problem is his grandson."

"How so?"

"He's been married almost fifty years, with no children."

"And? You must forgive me, I am but an ignorant peasant."

"And Toyakuya is an apple that's fallen rather far from his grandfather's tree. Bad enough that he's married to a Shiba that might be barren, but as it stands if Ginrei were to step down from his position as head of the clan, Michiko would become the heiress."

"But Toyakuya would become the patron, wouldn't he? What's the problem?"

"Only a peasant would ask a question like that," Yoruichi replied, smiling to take the sting from the words. "Michiko is two generations removed from Toyakuya. He wouldn't want the clan to have any chance of going that far back up the family tree."

Urahara made a sound as though he had just taken a bite from sushi that had sat three days out in the sun. "You nobles don't make any sense."

"No, we don't," Yoruichi agreed, laughing. "Promise you won't hold it against me?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

With a final blur of motion, the two arrived at northern district seventy-three. They came to a stop on the roof of a tall warehouse two blocks from the _senkaimon_, with a clear view of the gate and most of the crowd surrounding it. Off to their left, the sun was getting close to the foothills west of the city.

A black-clad Patrol Corps officer appeared behind them not two seconds after they arrived. Only his eyes were visible.

"Kosuke," Yoruichi greeted. Not for the first time, Urahara wondered how she told her men apart. "Is everyone in place?"

"Yes, my lady," Kosuke replied. His voice was a barely audible whisper. "Officers from Ninth Division have been assigned. We are ready."

"Good work. To your post, then, and good luck."

The _Onmitsukido_ agent made his bow and departing flash step almost a single fluid move, and then they were alone on the roof once more. The two of them settled in, perching on the edge of the roof to watch, and wait.

"I should have brought a picnic," Urahara sighed.

Yoruichi eyed him dubiously. "What, so we could have a meal interrupted by the chaos of some _kido_-flinging fugitives attacking a fortified position in the middle of a population center?"

"Well when you put it that way, it does sound very romantic. You're right, we shouldn't arouse suspicions."

Her mouth twisted. "Suspicions of what, exactly?"

His grin served as a game attempt at adding another sunset to the horizon. "Why, of our illicit love affair, of course."

Yoruichi slugged him in the shoulder so hard that he almost fell off the roof. "And who do we have to thank for all those rumors, I wonder?"

"Don't look at me! A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

"You'd have to be crazier than these _mononoke_ to confuse you for a gentleman. Or to believe a word you say. You make up wild rumors just to pass the time."

"No, I disguise myself as uncouth ruffians in _Rukongai_ to pass the time," he corrected. "Feeding rumor mills is more of a hobby."

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. The sun had begun to fall below the horizon. The two resumed their easy silence, watching the streets. As the light faded, the last bustle of the evening had come upon the Town of Wandering Spirits. Souls departed the businesses and shops, making their ways home, or towards the common rooms and taverns to either celebrate or mourn the end of another day, whichever was more appropriate. The streets were packed with laborers, merchants, and craftsmen, adding to the constant flow of new arrivals from the gate itself. There would not be a better time to hide oneself in a crowd.

"Don't bother feeling for _reiatsu_," Kisuke whispered. "They're too clever for that. Instead, look for someone trying too hard not to stand out. They'll probably be hooded, even now that it's getting dark. They'll be towards the edges of the crowd, somewhere they won't get in the way or risk being jostled as they cast. They'll be standing still, too; the _kido_ they need to use requires inscriptions, but even if it's just a symbol drawn in the dirt with a toe or a stick, they can't do it on the move. They'll have to be close to the gate, no further than a block from the square."

The sun was halfway below the horizon now. They turned their backs to it, the better to let their eyes adjust to the deepening gloom. The lanterns in the lampposts lining the streets were just now being lit.

"We're looking for a needle in a stack of needles," Yoruichi grumbled.

"No. We're looking for a _zanpakuto_ in a stack of needles. It might be buried, but you'll know it when you see it."

The hardest part was to keep looking someplace different. Eyes were drawn to movement and to light. The movement was everywhere, which meant you had to fight it, but the light was constant, and could be used to divide the area. He drew a line in his head between two torches and a line between two more, and had a square. Scan the edges, up, down. Once more to be sure. Take the next two torches, scan another square. Around the gate was harder; enough people had taken to milling about to watch the new arrivals that there were groups of people standing still. Take a point at the gate, draw two lines outwards, like cutting a pie. He took small slices, using the light from the windows of shops and stores and homes along the edge. Searching carefully and slowly, he couldn't risk letting the people become a mass of shapes. If that happened, he wasn't seeing what he needed to.

"There!" Urahara jabbed a hand out and pointed, his arm steady as a ray. Yoruichi followed him, and it didn't take her long once she knew where to look. It was a man, presumably, short and slouched. Standing at the edge of one of the crowds near the gate, he was wearing a heavy cloak. He wasn't the only one, but the others were looking upwards, watching the gate or talking to someone nearby. You could see their faces, and the faint glimmers of eyes reflecting torchlight. But not his. The hood was pulled low, as though he was looking at the ground.

It was so close they barely even needed to _shunpo_. "Hello there, friend," Urahara said.

To his credit, the sudden greeting did not break the man's concentration. He continued staring at the ground, muttering under his breath. At least until Kisuke put all of his weight into the act of stepping on the man's right foot.

"Gyaaahhh!" he cried, vainly trying to extricate himself. After a good long moment, Urahara stepped off. The man hopped away on one leg, cursing in pain, as Kisuke kicked at the small set of symbols that had been protected beneath the other man's sandal, turning them back into harmless dirt.

The man gaped at them. He was short and round of shoulder, with a face more cratered and pitted than the living world's moon. His mouth hung open, revealing a few sickly brown teeth.

"Well, I'll be damned. It's Kisai! Lieutenant Shihouin, I do believe we just won the pot."

The eyes of the leader of the _mononoke_ grew even wider once he knew he had been recognized. "Wha… How… _Shinigami_?!"

"Is it the robes that give us away?" Urahara asked conversationally. "Be honest now. I never liked the color. Don't you think I'd look better in a nice olive green?"

"Kisai, of the rebel faction known as _mononoke_, you are under arrest for murder and conspiracy against the _Seireitei_," Yoruichi said.

The words seemed to shock him back into his senses. At once, he began a flurry of gestures, twisting his hands through the beginnings of a _bakudo_ chant. He had barely even started moving his lips for the first word of the incantation when Urahara's elbow lodged itself deep into his gut. Kisai doubled over with a wheeze.

"Oh, please," Kisuke scoffed. "The most notorious fugitive _kido_ master in all the _Rukongai_, and you still use incantations?"

"I guess standards aren't what they used to be," Yoruichi said. She threaded a gag into the stooped man's mouth, yanking back his hood to tie it behind his few remaining tufts of long, oily grey hair. She bound his hands from the wrists all the way to the tips of his fingers, and trussed his feet together as well.

"If all his cronies go so meekly, the brass will accuse us of rounding up random miscreants to pad our numbers," Urahara complained. "No one will believe that these rats are the actual—"

The last of his sentence was drowned out when the three-story inn behind them erupted in a ball of flame. Every window blew outwards in a razor-sharp hail of glass, and the front door of the building flew straight off its hinges in front of a gout of fire. The force of the explosion threw everyone to the ground, even some of the _shinigami_ standing at the gate. The roar of flames was joined by the sounds of the building as it collapsed, a chorus of tumbling stone and crumbling masonry. The panicked shouts and screams of the souls around them almost drowned out the moans and cries of pain from the ones closer to the inn.

"Was that _kido_?" Yoruichi asked. She had pushed Kisai face-down into the dirt, and was standing over him, crouched and ready, eyes scanning for a threat.

"No," Urahara replied, studying the blaze. "Saltpeter and charcoal. And lamp oil, several barrels of it by the smell. Rather excessive, if this was meant to distract the guards for…"

"Kisuke," Yoruichi breathed.

For her to use his first name at a time like this was a sign of warning. He wheeled about, one hand grasping for Benihime. He froze before he had a chance to draw. Following her gaze back towards the _Seireitei_, he did not even have to guess what it was that she had seen. To their left, towards the east, the sky was the dark of night, and at their right was the purple gloom of twilight. But to the south a second sun was setting, in the red-gold haze of flame.

"Oh, my," Urahara whispered. "This wasn't part of the plan."


	9. Chapter Nine: Disclosure

**Chapter Nine**

**Disclosure**

"Hiromi-_kun_? Hiromi-_kun_!" The call carried through the rice paper walls of the apartments. It was high, shrill, and urgent, like the squalling of a human child. It made him sick.

"In here, Akata-_san_," Ochida said. "Stop yelling. You sound like a boy who's lost his mother at the cherry blossom festival."

The little man in his big kimono burst through the door, panting and panicked. "Hiromi-_kun_, what's going on?"

Ochida smiled, seeming perfectly at ease. Out the window behind him, beyond the balcony on which he stood, _Junrinan _burned. The horizon glowed a sullen reddish gold, and in the distance the wafting tongues of living flame rose from the tops of buildings. Far away, almost out of hearing, they could hear the screams and cries carried on the wind.

"Why, our plan has succeeded, of course," Hiromi Ochida said, as though it should have been more than obvious. He made a lazy gesture towards the sight. "You, and Miyozi, and Hirako, you all made it possible. And me." He turned to look out the window, and the fires danced in his eyes. "Yes, _me_."

"This wasn't the plan," Akata protested weakly. His voice sounded as thin as he looked, beneath all those baggy layers of clothes. For some reason that observation reminded Ochida why he hated the little man so much.

"But wasn't it? We needed a distraction for the _mononoke _to do their work. We all agreed. We would hire some men to raise a commotion, and all the _shinigami_'s precious plague-infested gates would come toppling down."

"This wasn't what we wanted. This wasn't what you said. You said there would be protests. Marches on the gates."

Ochida laughed. It was a slow, malicious sound, oozing contempt. "Of course that's what I said. And I didn't lie. What would you call this," he waved at the window, "if not the most bright and beautiful protest of them all?"

The little man scowled. The look might have been fierce, but only when compared to a mewling kitten. "You said no one would be hurt."

"I said no _shinigami_ would be hurt," he corrected icily. "That was all you seemed to care about. Do you see any of them out there? No, of course you don't. They wouldn't want to get soot on their _shihakushos_."

Heiji's mouth dropped open, just a hair. "Hiromi-_kun_, what do you mean?" He pointed out the window. "This is _Junrinan_! First District! The nearest gate is half a world away."

Ochida's grin grew wild. He turned away from the window, but there were still flames dancing, there deep in his eyes. "And all the _shinigami_, too! They'll stand at their gates, and watch us kill each other. They'll stand on the walls not half a league from here, and watch us burn!"

Akata took a step backwards. He was fearful. Small. Skittish. Ochida thought he looked like a little mouse. "You're insane."

"Oh, hardly. I've seen to it that the flames are quite well-placed. They'll never reach us here. Nor will they touch the tannery. The silversmith. The carpenter. The weaver. The chandler. And of course they won't come anywhere near my lumber yards."

Akata blinked at him. Now the man looked like an owl. Ochida wondered how many animal impressions the little fool could do. "What are you saying?"

"Don't you see?" Ochida sang. He spun and ran out to the balcony, spreading his arms and closing his eyes, as though basking in the warmth of the distant flames. "The _shinigami_ will never leave their gates after all the chaos I had my men stir up there. They will never leave the _Seireitei_, not wanting to chance their precious _sekkiseki_ walls being smudged with dirt. And while they stand aside, half of _Rukongai_ will burn tonight." He rounded back on Akata, his figure limned in firelight. "The half that I don't own. Yet."

Something about the little man changed, then. He stood a little straighter. No new animal analogies came to mind this time. "Is that what all this was about? Money?"

"What _else_ would it be about, Heiji-_kun_?" Ochida had never before used the man's first name, nor the friendly honorific, and so now he made it an insult. "Homes will burn. They will need to be rebuilt. People will die. They will have property sold at auction. I have spent years positioning myself for this beautiful night. Those homes will go back up using lumber from my saw mills. They will be refurnished with carpets from my shops. Their wardrobes will be refilled with clothes from my tailors, shoes from my cobblers, and rings from my jewelers. And with their own coin I will buy their poor departed neighbors' plots of land. And for the next hundred years I will live like the King of _Rukongai_!"

"No, you won't."

The reply was so level, so casually matter-of-fact, that it actually surprised Ochida. He squinted at Akata. The little man looked strange to him, but drunk as he was on victory all he could think was that the firelight was playing tricks on his eyes. No matter. He had planned for this as well. "You think you can stop me?"

The thin little man made no reply. He just stood there, and crossed his arms.

Ochida put on his best, most indulgent smile. It was an expression he had practiced a great deal in the two years he had spent with this waifish lickspittle. This petty, petulant, weak little man, who had all the money that Hiromi had needed to make this plan work, and who was so generous in lending to his only friend. How he had hated him for it. Every time Ochida had worn the smile before, he had thought of how much it made him want to kill the man. His thought as he donned it now was somewhat different, yet very much the same.

"Now, now, Akata-_san_, there's no reason to be this way." He ambled away from the window towards him. "You're angry that I lied. I'm sorry about that. But there's no reason we can't both benefit from this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that I owe you a lot. Without you, I would never have been able to put my plan in motion." He rested one hand on Heiji's shoulder. The other man just stared at him, standing with his arms crossed, still as stone. "I think it's time that I repaid you for all your help."

Hiromi Ochida was positive that the little fool never saw the knife. He grinned and thrust it into the gut of Akata's baggy kimono, relishing the feel as he pushed it deeper and deeper into those folds of cloth, until he felt the dagger bite against unyielding bone. The little man just stared at him. He never even blinked.

"Gods, I thought I'd _never_ get you to try and kill me."

Ochida's eyes went wide. He took a step back. The knife came out with the movement, far too easily. He stared at it.

There was no blood.

"Please, please, _please_, just stay like that. If I have to hear you say another word… Well, I might not be able to keep myself from killing you _far_ more quickly than I would enjoy."

Ochida stumbled backwards towards the balcony. His mouth worked open and he felt his tongue dancing in his mouth, but the only sound he seemed capable of was a faint little gurgle.

"Hush hush now. I haven't listened to you prattle and scheme for two years only to kill you in one night. By all the heavens, but you've been dense. For a while I thought I'd never get you to the final act on time. I had to lead you by the nose just to get you to Kisai. Did you really think at first that you could accomplish your plan just with those two hedge wizards you dug up in tenth district west?"

Ochida blinked and worked his jaw.

"No, don't answer that. Just so you know those men didn't even have a thimble of _reiatsu_ between them. Just because they ate once I offered to pay for it didn't make them capable of actual _kido_. And then to be so coy with the _mononoke_… I swear, if I hadn't put in half the bill, you would have just abandoned your little plot to sulk and scheme my ear off for another decade."

Hiromi's back had reached the wall. He could retreat no further, though Akata had not yet moved an inch.

"I'm just glad I didn't have to prompt you to set up these excellent sideshows. That would have seemed suspicious, even to you. To be honest, in that one tiny way you exceeded my expectations. I knew about the thugs you hired to set those bombs at the gates, but arson in all four of the first districts? I must congratulate you on your ambition, though perhaps not your subtlety."

"Wh—"

"Ah, ah, ah, what did I say about talking? I am going to enjoy wringing every last waking moment of these past two long years out of your miserable hide. I doubt you have a drop of blood for every insipid conversation that I…" Akata trailed off. His face pinched in annoyance. He looked over his shoulder just as the door burst inwards with a bang. Scraps of wood frame and shredded rice paper confetti filled the room.

"_You scheming traitor!_" a voice thundered from the hallway beyond what had been the apartment's outer wall. A man stalked through the ruin of the doorway, stepping straight past Akata as though he wasn't there. The man was short and old, with a long grey mane of hair and wild eyes buried in a wrinkled face. His voice was disproportionately loud, booming from between a bushy grey beard and mustache. "Kisai warned me you might sell us out. Suspicious, he was, so he had old Watari watch his back."

Ochida did not seem any more capable of replying to the wild greybeard than he had Akata. His speechlessness did not deter Watari any more than it had the other.

"Well, I watched all right. I watched as a pair of _shinigami_ snatched him, right before the bloody building he was standing next to exploded! You sold us out and set us up, but you're not going to live to enjoy whatever the Central Forty-Six thought we were worth. I'll skin you alive first."

"Stop! By the authority of the Patrol Corps!" another new voice shouted. Clad in black from head to heel an _Onmitsukido_ agent appeared, crouched on the balcony beside Ochida.

Watari scowled at the man. "Feh. Thought I lost you when I killed your _shinigami_ partner. Fine then, if you're stupid enough to chase me down, I'll kill you too. It'll be nice and quick, I've got better things to do."

A pair of shuriken appeared in the agent's hands. He threw one at Watari as he dove into the room at an angle. The projectile _ting_ed off an invisible wall six inches from the old man's chest. "Nuisance," Watari growled. He slapped at the air, and the ninja never reached the ground from his sideways dive. Instead his flight accelerated him headfirst into one of the room's supporting beams. It made a sickening crack as it split, and the agent landed on the floor with a thud. He shook his head, momentarily stunned.

"_Hado 31: Shakkahou_." The burst of flame caught the dazed _Onmitsukido_ operative full in the face. His head snapped back with a vicious jolt, and he lay still. The room started to fill with a morbidly sweet odor. Watari ignored it, returning his attention to Ochida. "Now, where were we?"

If the tenants in any of the adjacent rooms had not been annoyed by the sounds of shouting and ranting, or concerned by the noise of Watari's entrance, or terrified by the sounds of the Secret Mobile Corps' brief, fruitless, and fatal attempt to apprehend the rogue _kido_ user, the cacophony of the terrace collapsing in a chorus of splintered wood surely would have been the very last straw.

"So is this where all the fun is?" the hulking beast that had landed on the edge of the balcony roared. "I thought I sensed some little '_mitsu_ runt come running in here." The man had to duck to fit through the door to the balcony as he entered. He was large and lumbering, with a thick neck, beady eyes, and an unkempt beard. His face was covered in a dozen fresh razor-thin cuts. "I ain't going to hang around the barracks with killing to be done, no matter what that purple-haired bitch says." He looked at Watari. "You one of the _kido_ rats they're chasing?"

"_Hado 1: Shou!_"

The big man's face twitched a little, as though he'd felt a fly land on his cheek. "That's a yes, then. Trying to push me off the balcony?" he snarled. "You'll have to do better than that against a _Gotei_ lieutenant."

Watari opened his mouth to try another spell, but no words came out. Nor would they, with a fist the size of a ham clamped around his throat. The old man slapped at the thick fingers choking him, kicking at empty air as the arm raised him from the ground. He scratched and squirmed and flailed his legs, until the room was filled with a sudden sickly pop, and all his limbs went still.

"Pathetic," the big man spat, tossing the corpse aside. He looked around the room. His mouth broke into a wide dark grin. "Witnesses, eh? Too bad for you." He cracked his knuckles and reached for his sword.

"You would use your _zanpakuto _on the likes of us?" Akata asked. Through all the ruckus, he had not moved from his spot. He gazed at Keiji Kusunoki with an expression of mild distaste.

"Eh? You want me to squeeze your neck, too?" The lieutenant frowned and drew his sword. "Keep talkin', and that can be arranged. Maybe I won't break your spine. I'll just squeeze until your eyes pop out."

Akata sighed. "Ah, yes, of course. I suppose you wouldn't be able to tell."

"Tell what?" Kusunoki scowled. He took a couple slow, exaggerated swings of his _zanpakuto_.

Considering the carnage the apartment had seen, to say the next sounds were the most distressing could not do them justice. Like a grisly rain, three long thin trails of blood splattered against the walls. The noises that followed were three rapid thuds, a first and then two more.

Keiji Kusunoki stared at Akata. He was not sitting, or lying, but simply leaning, there against the wall. Two legs were crumpled in front of him, and two arms lay at his sides. Thin lines wept blood, one from each shoulder, and another across his waist. His face was a mask of dull, brutish rage, which befit a dull, brutish man. "What the hell?" he roared.

"This is how you rob a man of his limbs," said Akata, his voice quiet and even. He picked idly at a fingernail, and flicked away a speck of dirt. Striding over to the wall, he bent down to pick up Kusunoki's _zanpakuto_. He examined the weapon with an air that was almost bored.

"You filthy rat, who the hell are you? I'll wring your fucking neck!"

Akata opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. He looked down at Kusunoki with the shadow of a smile. "You wouldn't understand." He lowered the point of the lieutenant's own sword to the apple of his throat.

Kusunoki just glared up at him, murder in his eyes. "Finish it," he growled. "You goddamn coward. Do it and be done."

"As you wish." Akata shrugged, and pushed.

Ochida watched as Heiji walked away, wiping his hands on each other and grimacing in distaste. Hiromi tried to swallow, but his throat had gone bone-dry. In contrast, his legs felt like they were made of water. "That was a lieutenant," he rasped. "A _Gotei_ Thirteen lieutenant, and you killed him like it was nothing."

Akata turned. He looked as though the wall had just spoken to him. "He _was_ nothing, next to me."

"Who are you?" Ochida said. He slumped down to his knees. "_What_ are you, Akata-_san_?"

"My name," Akata said, whisper soft and calm, "is Darrus. And I warned you not to talk."

**…**

There was a palpable urgency to the way their guides led the three _shinigami_ captains to the Templar Square gate for their journey to the living world. Sir Baros and Sir Edwin kept a pace that was just short of running. The knights' white cloaks billowed behind them like clouds caught in a fierce spring gale.

"How much further is it?" Kyoraku wondered.

"We'll be there 'n a moment," Baros replied tersely. His face was red and he was breathing like a bellows, but if anything their pace quickened at the question. The knights had led them outside the Towers of the Seven, beyond the Guardian's Round and back into the city. They navigated winding streets and alleys, and the emptiness of the place lent even the pristine stone a sense of foreboding. News of the riots had spread faster than the fires outside the walls, sending most sensible people back to their homes. They had encountered only a handful of souls along the way, most of those scurrying out of sight.

"It's damned inconvenient not being able to flash step inside your own city," Shunsui muttered under his breath.

"Bad memories, Kyoraku-_kun_?" Ukitake whispered back. The day had grown long, and the white-haired captain was beginning to show the strain of being out of bed. It was longer than he had been away from the Fourth Division's care for quite some time. "I still remember when _sensei_ put those wards around the academy…"

"You're cruel to remind me, Juushiro-_kun_," Kyoraku said plaintively. "I still flinch at the sound of closing doors."

"It served you right for sneaking out so often. What was the purpose of moving too fast to be seen if you were never back in your room when they called the rolls?"

"Bah. Those dingy closets they gave us first year would have cramped a dwarf. Besides, there was no point sleeping in a dormitory with so much life to be lived outside."

"How much living did you do strapped to a gurney in the medical ward for a week after running headlong into one of Yamamoto's barriers at full _shunpo_, I wonder?"

"Do you really want to know?" There was a devious glint in Shunsui's eye.

Juushiro's look was shocked. "You didn't."

"I've always said that nine-tenths of what I learned at the academy came outside the classroom. I never said it came outside the grounds."

They turned one last corner and came upon an open area centered on a short, wide gate flanked by a pair of guardsmen. The tinge of _kido_ was in the air. The two knights never broke stride, leading them straight to the gate and through.

The experience was refreshingly normal after their journey through the Transfer Gate that morning. They appeared in a meadow, surrounded by stalks of tall grass scattered with wildflowers, swaying gently in the breeze. Before they had even had time to take their first breath of fresh air, they all knew something was very, very wrong.

"What is that _reiatsu_?" Juushiro gasped, sweat trickling down his brow.

Sir Edwin cursed. "That's a Vasto Lorde. We're already too late."

Kijuro's breath hissed between his teeth. "That is _one hollow_?"

"There are others as well, outside the city. Hollows and Soulguard both," Kyoraku said, eyes narrowed in concentration. "But inside only two of them are fighting. And… that's strange… two humans as well."

"M'lady may be fightin'," Baros said anxiously.

"Please, sirs, hurry," Sir Edwin urged. "We can go no farther, that fight is not for the likes of us."

"There is something very wrong I'm sensing about the spirit energy of this place," Ise said. "We may not have much time." He took off with a flash, and the other two captains followed.

They stopped just outside the city on a high hill overlooking the town, which rested in the bowl of a valley. "What in all the heavens…" From this distance, it looked as though the city of Esprit was covered by small black marks. Shunsui had never seen anything like it, but it looked familiar, somehow. They covered the town like countless tiny clouds. Even beneath the Vasto Lorde's overpowering presence, there was a sickly wrongness to the _reiatsu _in the air. With a sudden nauseous certainty, Kyoraku finally realized what it was he saw. "It looks like the plague."

"You're right," said Juushiro, his voice tinged with apprehension. The black spots looked exactly like the marks that covered the skin of those suffering the worst phases of the disease.

Ise muttered a curse. "This is very bad. But it may be even worse than it seems."

"_Sempai_, we could really use some _good_ news right about now."

In response, Ise raised a hand, eyes narrowing in concentration behind his spectacles. With the faintest of gestures and a burst of spirit energy, he began to summon a ball of raw _kido_ a feet from his palm. For a while it seemed perfectly normal, a sphere of pulsing light, but as he continued to feed energy into it, the change came upon it swiftly. One second it was glowing a healthy white, but the next it seemed to surge and twist, and the energy turned dark. It hovered in the air, raw and crackling, black and purple and blue, even after the captain jerked his hand away.

"As I feared. The boundaries between worlds have begun to collapse. And the greater the spiritual pressure applied to this region, the faster the disturbances will grow."

"Can we stop it?" Ukitake asked.

Ise's jaw tightened. His mouth became a thin, hard line. "I do know one way."

"How fast will these things spread?" Shunsui wondered, already dreading the answer.

"We're outside the nexus here, and this rift formed as easily as blotting ink on a clean parchment. At the level of _reiatsu_ within… distortions may have already begun to form on the other side."

"The other… you mean _Avalon_?"

"Soul Society, too," Ise added grimly. "This is not some localized phenomenon. The _juureichi_ is more than just a plot of spiritually enriched soil. It is the focal point of the connection between this world and the next. It is the point of convergence which all of our gates draw upon. _Reiatsu_ accelerates the damage, like ripping at an open wound, but that is not where the rifts first form."

"I don't like what I'm hearing, _sempai_," Shunsui muttered.

"No more than I like thinking it. But unless we can stop it, this damage is going to spread, and spread quickly, from every active _senkaimon_."

"We'd better hurry, then," Juushiro said. "However strong this Vasto Lorde is, surely together we can defeat it quickly. Three _bankai_…" He trailed off as Ise shook his head.

"You don't understand. If I had to guess, these disturbances will be much worse inside the nexus. Our showing up at all could accelerate the damage. At our levels, even _shikai_ might cause the rifts to expand at a rapid pace. If we add three _bankai_ to the spiritual pressure already inside, we could rupture the borders of the worlds instantly."

"I take it that would be bad."

"Only if you planned on ever finding that nice girl to settle down with, Shunsui-_san_."

Ukitake had gone even paler than normal. "So we might have to try and defeat this hollow without even releasing our swords?"

"All at once, anyway," Ise confirmed. "The rate of spirit particle decay will be unpredictable at best."

"The longer we wait, the worse it will get," Kyoraku said. "But that's not the only reason we should hurry. This battle feels like someone is about to lose."

With one last flash step, they were inside the town. Alighting upon a building at the edge of the central square, Shunsui took stock of the chaos before him. Just as Kijuro had feared, the rifts were both everywhere, and much more intense. Hundreds of roiling black distortions filled the air, twisting and sparking like bruised thunderclouds. Most of the common souls had fled, but a few still huddled inside buildings and in dark corners, too afraid to run. The central courtyard had once been a wide stretch of flat dirt and smooth cobblestones, but now it was a battlefield. Across the way, a Soulguard woman stood, leaning on a… human? That was odd. Another man stood nearby, seeming frozen in shock. Now that they were closer, his spirit had the distinctive flare of a Quincy. All three had their eyes turned skyward, and it was there they found a war raging against a backdrop of black and blue.

The hollow was easy to spot, his pale skin standing out almost as much as his glittering claws and the crackling red trails of what looked like _cero_ whips. His opponent stood out no less, and even from a distance she made a much prettier sight. Two separate forms darted about like a pair of crystal birds, the sunlight flaring magnificently from every shifting facet and face. They sped about the hollow, swooping, striking, and retreating. The Vasto Lorde was turning this way and that, but it was whichever foe he had his back to that made the move to strike. By all impressions it should have been easy to tell who was winning, but Shunsui saw the lie.

"It's playing with her," he growled, fingers itching for his swords.

"Perhaps," said Juushiro. "But she is stalling, too."

"For us, I wonder?" Ise asked. "Could she have known?"

"There's one way to find out," Shunsui said, and before the others could say a word against it he took into the air.

The hollow turned to face him before he had even come to a stop. Its pale white flesh was streaked with cuts, oozing black against its skin. Empty white orbs stared at Shunsui, studying him.

"Who's this now?" a voice called, but it wasn't the hollow who spoke. "Has someone else come to play?" With a blur of motion, she appeared right next to him. There were very few people that could startle Shunsui Kyoraku, at least visibly, but the instant he caught sight of Sighris Shei, she became one such soul.

"Judging by your expression, I guess I haven't lost my charm." The woman smiled, and her face shone as brightly as her golden hair. "Fighting this pale pederast, I was beginning to have my doubts."

For the first time in a good long while, Shunsui found himself speechless before a woman. He rather liked the sensation. It felt like an old friend.

"Keep up that look and I might just blush," she said, grinning wickedly. "But I'll see to it you turn the shade of your pretty cloak first. Are you the _shinigami_, then? Verris said you'd be here soon. She never said you'd be handsome, too."

"I am but a loathsome beggar against a lady so beautiful as you. Sweet siren, I am Captain Shunsui Kyoraku. And I am yours," he swept off his hat and bowed.

"And he has a honeyed tongue, to boot! I am Sighris Shei, Knight-Captain of Fifth Company."

"My lady, with every one of you I meet, I like the Soulguard even more. Where can I enlist?"

She laughed, and the sound was throaty music to his ears. "I see you've brought more recruits. Are all _shinigami_ so dashing as the three of you?" Sighris eyed Ukitake tip to toe, in a look so bold it made the white-haired captain turn scarlet.

"Oh, please, don't let me interrupt your introductions," the hollow drawled. "By the nights of Hueco Mundo, the lot of you are unfailingly _rude_."

"So says the rampaging murderer. Are all Vasto Lorde such hypocrites, Avaris, or is it only you?"

Without pupils, it made for a rather disturbing expression when the hollow rolled his eyes. "I believe we've all killed more than enough of each other to render such trite grievances moot. And spare me your talk of 'purification.' If a Soulguard slain and turned to spirit particles is dead, then so is a hollow reverted to purified souls."

"Fine. I do so hate semantics. When I kill you, you'll be just as gone."

"Dear me. Four against one? That hardly seems fair."

"Your purified souls can lodge complaints after. I'm sure there are a few thousand of them rattling around inside your head by now."

The hollow grinned its sharp-toothed grin, and laughed its grinding laugh. "Thousands? My dear woman, there are _millions_ I've consumed."

"Fine, then. I'm sure we'll deal with the overcrowding somehow."

"For once we are agreed. It is _much_ too crowded here."

The _reiatsu_ they had felt on arriving in the living world had been enormous, and up close the Vasto Lorde's strength was intense. It more than surprised them when it doubled itself again. The air above the town had been relatively clear, but at the surge of pressure black blotches bloomed across the sky. Only one man had ever made Shunsui Kyoraku feel anything close to this, but even the spirit pressureof Captain-Commander Yamamoto had never held such a malicious edge.

Shunsui barely had time to reach for Katen Kyokotsu before the hollow made its move. With one broad slash of his left arm and its whips of red energy, the whine of a _cero_ blast filled the air. But instead of a simple slash, or even a devastating beam, five planes of crackling carmine light divided the world from earth to sky. The four of them were split apart from side to side, but before they could move to counter, the Vasto Lorde struck twice more. It slashed again, first horizontally, trapping each captain in a square, and then it appeared above them to strike one last time, closing off the traps.

"You are making this far too easy," the hollow drawled. With a negligent wave, the extraneous planes of energy faded away, leaving only four red cubes. "I had hoped all of you together would at least have made me _try_."

Shunsui tapped the point of Katen Kyokotsu's wakizashi half against the _cero _wall. The energy sparked and hissed and pushed him back, sending a jolt through his arm. "_Oi_, Juushiro, do you think it would help if we told him his _reiatsu_ was going to destroy the world?"

"Somehow I doubt it," Ukitake replied. The constant background hum of the red energy filled their ears, but at least they could still talk.

"I'm beginning to rather dislike this cretin," Sighris said with a frown. Trapped along with her avatar her space was rather cramped.

"That's too bad," Avaris cut in. "I was just starting to warm to you." The hollow floated up to the Knight-Captain's prison, and tapped it with a claw. The energy faded.

Sighris brought up her sword en garde. "What're you playing at?"

"I don't think we were quite done." Avaris raised his right hand and flexed his fingers. The claws there retracted back into his hand.

The woman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Fighting me one-handed again? I hope you don't think I'll return the favor." Roc beat its wings and began moving to circle around behind.

"Not willingly." The hollow's left hand struck in a blur, snapping towards the glittering avatar. The woman could not even cry out before the great bird was crushed like a fragile figurine. The shards looked almost like rain as they fell towards the earth.

Sighris only smiled. "Did you think it would be so easy?"

As the fragments tumbled below them, the course of their fall began to change. The fragments began to dance and shift, and soon they were joining together. Before they were even halfway to the ground, the great bird's scream sundered the air, and Roc was soaring again.

It was the hollow's turn to smile. "Poor woman. You are just… too slow." It curled its right hand into a fist, and charged.

Sighris saw the attack coming, and folded her own wings before her like a shield to meet the blow. They shattered like two panes of glass, and the hollow's fist went straight through the center of her chest. As Stormhawk dropped from senseless fingers, Roc fell to pieces below. Its final cry crumbled with it in a long, low, mournful wail. Sunlight dappled the air with rainbows where it brushed the remnants of her wings. Sighris Shei looked almost an angel as she fell to earth amidst a shroud of crystal tears.


	10. Chapter Ten: Gambit

**Chapter Ten**

**Gambit**

Kisuke Urahara loved puzzles. He also loved mysteries, questions with no obvious answers, and was not averse to a little excitement. And as the inveterate tinker of the _Gotei_ Thirteen, he was even accustomed to the occasional explosion in close proximity to his person. Combining all of these things at once, however, was not a practice he particularly enjoyed.

With a fugitive in custody, a plot to destabilize the _Senkaimon_ seemingly foiled, a large building blown to smithereens fifty feet from where he stood, and the unmistakable sign of a large fire blazing through the upper districts of the Town of Wandering Spirits, the word "chaos" came to mind, and not in the fond, often affectionate way he usually considered the term.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"It looks like half of _Rukongai_ is on fire," Yoruichi gasped.

"That's what I was afraid of. I was hoping that the Captain-Commander had eaten curry again." The quip was half-hearted. Urahara's brain was too busy processing this latest turn of events to spare the effort for any humor more profound.

"Do you think it's the _mononoke_? A second element of the attack we didn't know about?"

"No, it's not their style. And counterproductive; most of their business comes from the wealthy upper districts. They wouldn't start fires in the middle of their client base."

"More bombs then, like here?" she wondered, looking at the destroyed inn. "Maybe some of their diversions got out of control."

"They could have blown up half a district and it wouldn't cause fires large enough for us to see from here." Kisuke scowled. He was missing a piece of this puzzle. Something didn't fit, and it was digging at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch. "And I'm beginning to doubt that the explosion here was meant as a diversion."

She looked up at him, still kneeling on Kisai's back. The rogue spirit was dazed and barely conscious, still bound from his apprehension and safely ignored. "What makes you say that?"

"An effective diversion takes place well before the action it means to disguise," Urahara said, shaking his head. "If they wanted to sidetrack us while they took down the gates, those fires would have started hours ago."

"Well, what then?" Yoruichi snapped, clearly annoyed. "I'm all ears if you have any ideas."

"I wish I did. Blast it! We're missing something, but I don't…" he ended lamely. A look of vague bewilderment came over his face.

Yoruichi gazed at him with deepening confusion as he trailed off. He was staring over her shoulder, head tilted to one side, towards the gate. She turned.

The _Senkaimon_ was flickering. Not badly, and not enough to draw the notice of the guards, though most of them were occupied by the building that had just been destroyed. The typical stark white of the realm between the ethereal rice paper doors was brighter, somehow, and glimmering brighter still.

Yoruichi drove her knee deeper into Kisai's back, but the hedge wizard merely groaned. Near insensate and trussed like a pig for slaughter, it was certainly not his work. She started looking around. "Did we miss one? Was there another _kido_ user working with him to collapse the gate?"

"No," Kisuke said. "The gate's not being shut down. If anything it's getting… stronger."

"Stronger? How?"

Urahara held out a hand, flexing his fingers and muttering under his breath. He meant to test the flows of _reishii_, but before he could finish he yanked his hand back, yelping in surprise. The air before him had started quavering, and a spot grew darker even than the ambient torch-lit gloom. Faint discharges raced across its surface, white on purple and blue. It radiated a sickly sense of corrupted _reiatsu_.

"What in the world is _that_?" asked Yoruichi.

"It's a planar vergence," Kisuke muttered, almost to himself. "A fusion between the world of the living and Soul Society."

"You don't make it sound like a good thing."

"It's not. In fact it's very, very bad. Spirit particles and living particles can coexist in a limited sense, but only in the living world. Living matter is far more dense than _reishii_, but spirit particles possess _reiryoku _to maintain their integrity in the living world. When _kishi _are introduced to a spirit environment, however, their relative density causes a catastrophic expansion."

"Catastrophic expansion?" Yoruichi raised an eyebrow. "Meaning they explode."

"More or less. This distortion is a point where spiritual pressure has breached the two planes, allowing _kishi_ to flow directly into Soul Society. What we're seeing is the destruction of the living particles as they enter this plane."

"Can we close it off?"

Urahara frowned. "Technically, yes. But we can't fix the problem, at least not from here. We could apply enough _reiatsu_ to stem the flow, but that's the equivalent of plugging your finger into a hole in the dam holding back the entire living universe. The real problem," he pointed at the _Senkaimon_, "is that."

"What do you mean?"

"The world penetration gates allow for the free passage of spirit particles back and forth between worlds, but to do so they're specially designed not to allow living particles through. A normal _Senkaimon_ is attuned to the _juureichi_ in the living world, using its unique point of spiritual density as counter-pressure to balance against the flow of living particles."

"Kisuke," Yoruichi growled, using the name in a way that was anything but friendly, "_kido_ theory was not my favorite class at the Academy. If you want to impress me with your all-encompassing brilliance, I'm going to find out if that big head of yours can be used to plug up that leak."

Urahara gulped. Then he took a deep breath, along with a moment to collect his thoughts. "Think of the living world and Soul Society like a pair of bubbles. If they were both filled with air, they could touch and even join together. But if they're filled with, say, oil and water, they can't mix so easily. The _senkaimon _allow the two worlds to touch without mixing, by which I mean damaging one another. They're more than just conduits for us to move back and forth, though. They're anchors to the connection between worlds, the spot where they're _always_ close, and so they become focal points for proximity connections like this one."

"You're making even less sense now. The _Senkaimon_ have always been around, but this is the first time I've ever heard of a planar vergence, never mind seen one."

"Something has been bringing the worlds closer together," Urahara explained. "Usually the gates are more like tunnels spanning the _dangai_, the gulf between the worlds. But for some reason the bubbles have been thrown out of equilibrium. Their interior pressures are changing, or something is acting on them to cause one to expand and press against the other. Naturally, the first spot where they start pressing together is close to any _Senkaimon_. And where they get close… apply a little _reiatsu_, and you get this. The worst part of it is that so long as the gates are active and the worlds are anchored together, it will only get worse."

Yoruichi gaped at him. "Are you saying we should have just let the _mononoke_ close the gates for us after all?" she asked ruefully. "Please don't tell me we just foiled an unwitting attempt to _save_ Soul Society."

Urahara chuckled, running a hand through his thick hair. "If that were all it took to fix this, sure. But you can't just pull two bubbles apart once they've touched."

"I think you've worn that metaphor thin enough to pop," Yoruichi grumbled. "What do we do, then?"

Kisuke sighed. "There is only one thing that can force the two worlds to temporarily separate: a _juureichi_ shift."

Yoruichi blinked. "Oh, great. So all we have to do is dig out a whole spirit _ri_ of earth, pick it up, and drop it someplace else. I'll go grab a shovel."

Urahara smiled, but there was no humor in the expression, and even less hope. "I'm afraid it's not even that simple. A nexus shift is an involuntary phenomenon, one that happens when the _senkaimon_ have drawn upon the spirit energy of the _juureichi_ to the point that another forms to take its place. It's a natural event, one that we can't affect any more than we can a rainy day or high tide. Even running three extra permanent gates for the past decade, the last _juureichi_ didn't shift for more than half a century. And the most recent transition was less than three years ago."

"So if we try and wait this one out…"

"Well before that happens, the worlds will merge on a scale that will cause catastrophic damage to both. The afterlife itself will be annihilated. And without it, the living world will cease to exist soon after."

"I liked this day better when we were just rounding up a bunch of greasy rogue spirits," Yoruichi mumbled. "I swear, tomorrow I am putting in for a vacation, and…" her voice faded, and the dark look on her face grew darker as she stared back towards the _Seireitei_. "Do you feel that?"

"Lieutenant Kusunoki…" Urahara muttered, "Sending a distress flare?"

"That hardly seems his style," the woman grumbled. When in danger of losing a strategic position in a combat zone, _shinigami_ were trained to fluctuate their spiritual pressure rapidly up and down. The chaos of a war zone being what it was, as with many such tactics it was designed less to save one's life than to call attention towards an area in need. To feel it from a _shinigami _lieutenant in the middle of _Rukongai_ was somewhat baffling. "This has to be some kind of stunt. I swear, the next time I see that oaf I'll wring that thick neck of his so tight we'll be able to use it for soba noodles."

Just as Kisuke drew a solid bead on their location, the pulses of _reiatsu_ stopped. Even more unsettling, their source was gone as well.

"Why do I have an ugly suspicion that I've just been promoted?" he said.

"What was he even doing outside the walls?" she wondered, her anger vanished in an instant to be replaced with confusion. "I doubt he ran out to offer help to the bucket brigades."

"I'm not sure. If we can see them from here, it's not as though anyone in the _Seireitei _needed help spotting those fires." He frowned. Something in the back of his mind was screaming for his attention. "Between the emergency deployments and our operation here, what few _shinigami_ were left in the Court are probably already outside helping. And with the casualties from a blaze that large, I'd bet that even Captain Unohana has… left…" The voice in his head finally became clear. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place, and Urahara felt his heart stop at the sight of the picture it made. His eyes grew wide as saucers.

If Yoruichi hadn't seen his expression, a much more prominent clue to his distress was the gale of _reiatsu _unleashed by Urahara blazing off towards the Court at a full-out combat _shunpo_. His urgency was so great that he left gouges in the roofs of buildings through the force of his acceleration. Dumbfounded, she stared at his wake for an instant before taking off in pursuit. She caught up to him half a second later.

"Kisuke! What the hell is wrong?" she bellowed. Even yelling at the top of her lungs, she couldn't be sure that he had heard. The two of them may have made an art of synchronizing their steps so as to be able to carry on a conversation while moving faster than the eye could follow, but the sheer physics of their current velocity made it almost impossible to talk, let alone be understood.

Either way, Urahara didn't respond. He pressed himself harder and faster than he had in quite some time. As they sped over the rooftops of northern district five, the fires came into view before them. They spread across the width of the world, disappearing beneath the horizon, but even the sight of his birthplace ablaze could not distract him. The only thing he wanted to see were white walls, standing tall and proud.

He wanted them just to be standing at all.

When the Black Ridge Gate, the northern entrance to the Court, came into view, he decelerated just enough to avoid becoming an unsightly blemish on the Court's protective barrier. He did not stop until he stood inside, with a full view of the _Seireitei_'s spires, and more importantly, a full feel of the _reiatsu_ within the walls. He all but wilted in relief.

The comfort was short-lived. A knee planted itself in the back of his skull, and left him sprawling face-down on the paved tiles.

"_Baka!_" Yoruichi snapped, glaring at his prone form with a fierceness that possessed physical force. "What's gotten into you?!"

"I figured it out, Yoruichi-_dono_," he coughed, struggling to his knees.

The honorific caught her off guard. He rarely called her that. Sometimes he was just being playful or especially devious, and earned a minor beating for it afterwards. But it was always something he used when he wanted her full and undivided attention.

"It all makes sense now. The _mononoke_. The attacks on our forces in the living world. The fires. The gates. Everything that's been happening has drawn us this way and that, to all corners of the worlds both living and dead."

"So it's been a busy week," she groused. She had known Urahara long enough to expect a certain degree of spontaneity in his every word and deed, but that didn't wholly prevent honest anger from time to time, anger that took more than a few words to quell.

"Don't you see?" he asked, with an earnest impatience that did not improve her mood. "All that's happened, everything has moved us _away from here_."

Her eyes narrowed. "So?"

"So something has drawn all the strength from the _Seireitei_, leaving it as close to defenseless as it's ever been in almost two thousand years."

"If there were a threat to the Court, surely we'd sense it."

"Not while we were outside the walls. Not with _sekkiseki_ blocking us."

"Any group large enough to pose a challenge would be felt well before it could _get_ inside."

"Like we felt what killed your agents in west _Rukongai_?" he asked ominously. "Like we felt what killed Lieutenant Kusunoki? Any group would be easy to spot, yes. But not something acting alone."

"So maybe an adjuchas snuck in. I'll admit, at a time like this it wouldn't be impossible. What could it do, though? Spit in Yamamoto's tea kettle?"

Urahara made no move to laugh. "It could overload the _Daireimon_."

Yoruichi's next comment died on her tongue. The Great Spirit Gate, the central hub of living world transit for the entire _Seireitei_. It was the largest, oldest and longest-standing _Senkaimon_ in all of Soul Society. A small piece of the dread in his tone turned her face to stone.

"It wouldn't be hard. You saw how easily I caused a vergence back at the northern gate. The _Daireimon_ in the Court is five times larger, and deeply bound to the _reishii_ flows of Soul Society itself. Anyone with lieutenant-level spirit power and a basic knowledge of _kido_ could start a chain reaction that would fuse the worlds."

"Alright. I can see why you were so worried, then." She took a deep breath to calm her frayed nerves, and fixed him with a pointed glare. "But the next time you feel like taking off on your own to save the world, talk to me first."

"Duly noted," he replied, rubbing his chin where it had been so unceremoniously introduced to the ground.

"I don't feel any strong presences near the gate," Yoruichi said. "One of us should find Captain Unohana and have her post more guards there, just in case."

Kisuke frowned. "Speaking of guards... I don't sense _any _presences near the gate."

After a little concentration, Yoruichi realized he was right. "Maybe they were called outside to help with the fires."

"Maybe," said Urahara. He did not sound convinced. "But I still think we should have a look."

"Jumping at shadows, now? It's not like you to be paranoid. You must have hit your head harder than I thought."

"That could be. Will you take pity on a poor intellectual and indulge my addled wits?"

"I suppose I owe you that much. Fine, let's go." They made their way towards the _Daireimon_ at a much more leisurely pace than their breakneck hurtle through _Rukongai_. It took them several minutes, but they reached the spacious courtyard that hosted the primary station of transfer between Soul Society and the living world. It was an open space almost a mile square, like most of the _Seireitei_ floored by smooth tiles and walled in by layers of white brick buildings with roofs of shingled clay. Above them, Soul Society's moon was high and bright and full, suffusing the gate and the cityscape beyond in a surreal silver-grey light. There were entrances at three corners of the square, all of which opened facing the fourth angle where the gate itself was set. Against a black sky with clouds tinged by the red of the fires, the Great Spirit Gate stood before the backdrop of the central rise where the _Gotei_ Thirteen's main facilities sprouted beside the rocky face of _Soukyoku _Hill.

Two guards were next to the gate, and the courtyard itself was littered with _shinigami_ and other _Seireitei_ denizens who had been making their way to and from the living world. This would have been considered a normal scene, but for the fact that all of them were lying crumpled and still upon the ground, most obviously dead. The square was eerily still and silent. A single soul stood tall, looking up at the gate itself.

"Come out," he called. "There's no need for you to hide." The man standing next to the gate turned towards them. He was clad in a kimono of sky blue, which took on a cast of eerie grey in the moonlight. It seemed several sizes too large for him, an impression Urahara thought rather fitting for a man who felt like he was hardly there. Kisuke could detect only the faintest whisper of _reiatsu_ from him, barely even the spirit energy of a common soul.

The two _shinigami_ strode out into the courtyard, treading warily through the scattered maze of corpses lying here and there. "Who are you?" Kisuke asked as they approached.

"Of course. It is only proper for a guest to introduce themselves first. You may call me Darrus," he said, and bowed. Standing with his hands clasped at his back, he looked at them expectantly.

"I'm Kisuke Urahara."

The man smiled at him amiably. His eyes were two grey chips of slate.

"Yoruichi Shihouin." Not taking any chances, the two of them had moved several paces apart as they approached. At this point, unless the man could grow longer arms there would be no way for him to strike them both at once.

"Ah, the famed lieutenant, and heiress to one of Soul Society's five great noble clans." The man bowed again in her direction, the motion filled with practiced courtesy.

"They always know you," Urahara complained. "Why does no one ever know me?"

"Try growing purple hair," the Shihouin princess shot back. "Though I'd like to know exactly who it is that's recognized my name."

"You will not have heard of me, even if I should explain. Like your good friend, the Third Seat Urahara, I am a knowledgeable man. Also like him, I am content to be of subtle consequence, leaving the grand gestures of design to those with more theatric sense."

"How poetic of you. Did you kill all these people?" she asked.

He did not blink, nor did he smile. He showed no sign at all of either satisfaction or guilt. "Yes."

If he was suppressing his _reiatsu_, he was doing it as skillfully as any captain could. Standing this close and focusing intently, Kisuke could get no sense of the man as anything more than the most inconspicuous of souls. The only strange thing was that his spiritual power was… off-center. Somehow not precisely emanating from where the man appeared to be.

"Why?"

"I might say 'because I could.' Your question is more existential, I believe. They were unlucky, perhaps. They were where I wanted to be, and I did not wish to be interrupted."

With feline subtlety, Yoruichi shifted her weight to the balls of her feet. "Like we're doing?"

Darrus considered her for a moment. "You expect me to declare 'yes!' and attack you, is that it? So I can only presume."

"Are you saying you don't want to fight us?" Kisuke asked. With a casual motion, a thumb flicked at Benihime, loosening the katana in her sheath.

"No. Neither am I saying that I do. You cannot stop what I intend, but your defeat would require more time than all these others. In the interest of efficiency, I will offer you the option not to try."

As he spoke, Urahara felt the man's _reiatsu_ move. It was the queerest sensation, to watch the man still standing there, yet have his sixth sense scream a warning as his minute trace of spiritual power began to shift over to their side. From the corner of his vision he saw the skin around Yoruichi's eyes tighten, and he knew she felt it, too. "So you didn't give all of these people that same choice, then?" he wondered, trying to focus on both the man and his spirit pulse at the same time.

"No. I was not gifted with such patience." He stood there, calm as a lake on a breathless morning. Straight and strangely proud, hands clasped at his back, he gave not the least impression of a threat, but now his spiritual signature was all the way off to their side.

"We should be honored, then, I suppose," Yoruichi drawled. She took a half-step backwards and angled her body to the right. She appeared to be adopting a pose of haughty confidence, but in fact the move allowed her to face almost towards the _reiatsu_.

"Once I realized that all of your captains were gone, I had hoped to take advantage and be done with my plan promptly. Their presence would have made my efforts more… irritating."

Darrus' _reiatsu _was now almost behind them. Abandoning all pretense, Yoruichi turned and shuffled sideways, until she stood at Kisuke's back.

The man smiled faintly. "I must congratulate you. The lieutenant outside the walls never noticed, even after it was too late."

Urahara frowned. "So you killed Kusunoki, too."

"I see no reason to deny it, assuming that was his name."

"Did you start the fires as well?"

"No. That I will lay at the feet of another, more foolish man. Of course, I did not try and stop him, nor would I had I known his scheme."

"And what scheme was that?" Urahara asked, casual as a breeze.

Darrus chuckled. "I believe you already foiled it, unless I miss my guess. Something about closing all the gates to the living world. Unfortunately for him, it was contrary to my goal, though I am not unwilling to take advantage of the opportunity it has presented. I expected to face more resistance while I executed my plan."

"And what might that be?" Yoruichi wondered.

"I have offered you your lives, not the opportunity to sate every idle curiosity. You are reaching the limit of my indulgence. Begone from here, and spend what remains of your lives however you may deem fit."

"Was that a threat?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Dear woman, if I wanted you dead, you would already be so."

"I'm not so easy to reach," she retorted.

"Perhaps. But I'm not easy to avoid," Darrus replied.

Urahara's eyes widened. The man's voice had come from _behind_ him. It wasn't _shunpo_; even Yoruichi couldn't stand in one place and speak from another. And such speed would have required at least some output of _reiatsu_, but the man still felt barely there. With exaggerated slowness, Urahara drew his sword. Whatever the man's words, and wherever they had come from, he knew killing intent when it was heard. "I wonder… just how many places can you be?"

"One," said Darrus as he shrugged, his voice once again emanating from his visible body. "That's as many places as any one man can be."

"But you're not a man," Urahara replied matter-of-factly. "You're a hollow." Behind him, he felt Yoruichi tense.

"Close to the mark," Darrus said. "And partway to the truth. I thought you were cleverer than this. I was once a hollow, just as I was once a living man. We are all of us many things, but now I am something more."

"So I see. I'm so impressed, in fact, I want a better look. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to open another pair of eyes." He raised his sword. "_Okiro, Benihime_." The _zanpakuto _awoke at his call, her guard disappearing and the grip shifting within his hand. The blade glittered in the moonlight, and her red tassel swayed in the breeze.

"You intend to fight me, then. I suppose I should have expected so. A lieutenant and a third seat, though? I'll take that as a bargain. And I do have time to spare. Your forces outside the court will be in disarray for much of the night, and my agents in the living world are no doubt leading your divisions on a merry chase as we speak."

"So you expect to defeat us, then?" Yoruichi asked.

Darrus smiled, and he appeared. The tiny _reiatsu_ behind Urahara erupted like a new-born sun. The surge of pressure was so intense that Kisuke felt his breath catch in his throat. He almost lost his balance, until Benihime shivered in his grasp. The _zanpakuto _stood with him then, putting steel back in his soul. He felt her whispering, eager and anxious, there deep down in his mind. _Easy, girl_, he soothed. _Not now. Not yet_.

But even as he stilled her restless spirit, something else nagged at him. The _reiatsu_ he felt was the match of an average captain's. Impressive, though not overwhelming, but still far too strong to be any adjuchas he knew. It did not feel like a hollow's, either. With a deep current of unease he realized that, if anything, it felt almost like a _shinigami_.

"Oh, yes, I expect to defeat you," Darrus said. "I have no stomach for theatrics, but I suppose you will regard this as your desperate final stand. Take it as you wish, but do it quickly, I believe your end is near."

The words alone had put Yoruichi on the move, and in that moment the bodiless _reiatsu_ had moved too. She flash stepped away an instant before a massive gouge was taken from the tiles beneath her feet. Splinters of stone shot upwards, but the Goddess of Flash was no longer there.

In his own effort to avoid the attack, Urahara charged straight at Darrus, who had not moved at all. With a single surgical strike, Benihime passed through his neck.

The man looked at him and smiled. "You still don't know, do you?"

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Kisuke cut again and again. Both times Benihime passed right through where the man seemed to stand. He didn't dodge them, or flash step away and back. The blade simply didn't reach him, as though he were no more than air.

He felt the _reiatsu_ coming behind him, and turned towards the threat. Though he could sense it approaching, its shape was harder to determine, so he had no firm concept of the attack. Trusting his instincts, he made a preemptive strike, swinging Benihime in a wide arc before him, trying to catch his foe before they were in reach. It was not a tactic he would repeat. He felt the pressure shift downwards, ducking beneath the slash. Sharp pain blossomed in his midsection, a brief impression of a blunt force striking his lower chest. He slid backwards across the courtyard, scrabbling to stop himself on hands and knees. Struggling back to his feet, his next breath was agony, and he cursed his foolish gamble. Broken ribs would not make the remainder of this encounter any easier at all.

After witnessing the result of her partner's attempted strike, Yoruichi had the good sense to hang back. "You alright?" she called.

"Never better," he wheezed.

"Any idea what it's made of? Could you tell?"

"Sunshine. Rainbows. And a very large chunk of rock."

"A blunt weapon, then, or a fist. Try not to faint," she taunted, "and I'll show you how it's done." To correct for his mistake, she took her usual approach: if someone might try and hit you back, hit _them_ in two places at once. She struck with a burst of furious elegance, as only Yoruichi Shihouin could. Charging low and leaping high, she attacked from both left and right. A right cross stopped abruptly with the suddenness of a solid hit, but a sweeping kick to the same place immediately after passed through the air as though it missed. She flashed away a heartbeat later, before her target could strike back.

"Damn!" she yelled, shaking her hand. "You weren't kidding, Kisuke. Its _reiatsu_ really is hard as a rock."

Their imperceptible opponent must have had _shunpo_, too. One second it was idle where she had engaged it, and the next it was right in her face. A long slash emerged on her uniform, running from shoulder to hip. The Yoruichi that suffered the wound, however, slowly faded away.

"An edged weapon, too, eh? That wasn't very nice," she grumbled. She picked at a ragged tear in the shoulder of her sleeveless battle suit, which showed the first signs of the cut that her flash copy had received to its conclusion. The skin beneath it did not appear to have been touched. Sometimes it paid off to be the fastest woman alive.

"Remarkable," said Darrus. "I see your reputation is well-earned. But speed alone—" He was interrupted with the sudden introduction of a fist into his mouth. Unfortunately, Yoruichi's strike appeared to have no more effect upon him than Urahara's sword.

"At least he can't talk like that," Urahara quipped. "Maybe one of us should – gah!" By the time he detected the attack incoming, he didn't have time to properly dodge. He flailed away from the sensation of a cut at his back. His avoidance had none of Yoruichi's grace, and only part of its effectiveness. He felt blood running from a deep gash between his shoulder blade and kidney.

In less than the span of a blink, Yoruichi cut through the air behind him with another wide, sweeping kick. Even with her speed, however, by the time she struck their foe was gone. It had returned to a spot close by Darrus, and made no further moves to strike. "_Che_," Yoruichi spat. "Bad enough we can't see it, but that thing's quick, too. Any ideas?"

"Several. There's running and hiding, beginning for mercy, and a few others you _really_ wouldn't like."

"I can't imagine what those might involve. Any _good_ ideas?"

He smiled weakly. "Just one."

"Oh? Care to enlighten me?"

"I need to test something first."

"You and your experiments," Yoruichi sighed. "Just try not to get yourself killed. I don't feel like cleaning up the mess."

"Your wish is my command. Oh, and if you'd be so kind, assist me on analysis number two. _Nake, Benihime!_" In front of Urahara, the red plane of a bloodmist shield sprang to life.

Darrus eyed him calmly. "Oh? Just what are you planning to do?"

"It's simple, really," Urahara replied. "If you want to kill me, I'm going to make you try."

The corner of Darrus' mouth curled upwards, and the taunt had the desired effect. The _reiatsu_ moved to attack him, vanishing and reappearing to bypass the shield and strike him from behind. Urahara countered by flash stepping to put the bloodmist shield at his back. As he did so, he muttered something under his breath. The sound of the ephemeral warrior striking the blood-red barrier sent a crash throughout the square, but Urahara noted with some relief that the shield had survived the attack unscathed.

Not wasting an instant, he charged towards Darrus on foot. The barrier followed behind him, hugging close to guard against the _reiatsu_ at his back. "Tsk, tsk. Now you're just being predictable," Urahara chided. "What's the use in being invisible if you always attack from behind?" The _reiatsu_ moved again, and the sandy-haired _shinigami_ vanished into a flash step as another strike against the bloodmist shield rang out.

Urahara reappeared behind it, frowning. "Please tell me you're not always that easy to bait. Yoruichi, now!"

The woman was on the _reiatsu_ before the words had left his mouth. She struck from behind, or at least her best guess of it. One scissor kick struck home, but without her opponent having moved, the next blow went straight through.

"_Bakudo 1: Sai_."

The _reiatsu_ did not have a chance to move and avoid the _kido_… but it was not the target. Darrus' mouth fell open as his arms snapped together at the small of his back.

"Oho? Looks like I got lucky."

"Kisuke, you sly dog." Yoruichi appeared beside him. "What did you figure out?"

"At first I thought he was just unusually skilled at manipulating his _reiatsu_, but then I realized the truth. Somehow he's managed to split his soul into two parts; one is a visible manifestation and another is spiritual energy. When I first attacked him, he made his visible form physically incoherent, and then each time we attacked his _reiatsu_, he did the same to it. Being two facets of the same soul, I realized that he can manipulate the characteristics of both at will. That's how he can talk from what sounds like two places, but only one at a time, or strike at us when it looks like he's standing there."

"That would be handy. So what was with the _kido_?"

"_Sai _is one of the few spells with no visible trace; I tried to cast it on him during his first attack on the shield as well, but it went right through him. I waited until he was forced to make his visible body coherent when you attacked his _reiatsu_ the second time, and the spell succeeded."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Darrus whispered.

The _reiatsu_ moved to strike. Urahara did not move behind the bloodmist shield. Instead he calmly turned to wait, not even raising his sword. Just before the attack reached him, there was a surge of bright blue light. For a second the _shinigami_ had to shield their eyes, but the nova quickly faded to reveal a soft red glow. It surrounded the outline of a vague, human-size shape. The sense of the _reiatsu_ pulsed as it struggled against the _kido_ bonds.

"What the hell did you do?" Darrus growled.

"Oh, I forgot to mention. I also wove together a pair of other bindings, _seki _and _geki_, to protect me from the next thing that tried to touch me, and trap it once it did."

Yoruichi chuckled. "And here I could have kissed you after that crazy little scheme worked. Good thing I resisted the impulse, or it would have thrown quite the snag into your plan."

"It might almost have been worth it," Kisuke said slyly. "But as it stands, we should work fast. Such low-level _bakudo_ aren't going to hold our friend for long." Urahara charged at the human form of Darrus, standing with his arms bound helplessly at his back. With a dramatic thrust, he put Benihime's wicked point straight through where the man's heart would be. Urahara frowned, twisting the blade back and forth, but he would have done more damage stabbing a tree in the open spaces between its leaves. Still, he held the sword in place. "Go, Yoruichi-_san_! His spirit half must be physically coherent now."

The woman was across the courtyard in a flash, leaping at the half-visible shape bound in place by the red light of the ninth _bakudo_. One leg was outstretched for a powerful kick, and her aim was true, but she passed straight through the haze to land on the other side.

Eyes narrowing, Kisuke looked back to Benihime. The _zanpakuto_ was still set within Darrus' chest, but it was having no more effect than it had before.

Darrus started to laugh. With a crack of shattered energy, he crossed his arms before him and stood to his full height, his body still moving around the sword in his chest as though it was not even there. "So close. But you forgot one thing."

Out of the corner of his eye, a patch of blackness split open with a dissonant chord, a dark mouth yawning through the air. "_Garganta_—?" Urahara muttered. He did not have time to be confused, nor did he have a chance to bring the bloodmist shield to bear before a terrible weight slammed into his left side. It sent him tumbling across the ground, crushing trenches through the tiles deep enough to reveal the soil beneath. He eventually rolled to a stop. He lay still for a long, painful moment, then tried pushing himself to his feet. His movements were slow and awkward, and he spat out of mouthful of dirt. The taste of earth almost kept him from noticing the copper tang of blood.

"You figured out more than I thought you would," Darrus' voice rumbled. It did not come from his visible body, or from the silhouette restrained in red. It thundered from next to the _garganta_, the spot where Urahara had stood. The _reiatsu_ that came with it was like nothing he had ever felt. Its aura was so intense that it actually gave the impression of another physical form. It was no larger than a human, but its sense was that of a hollow, stronger than any Urahara had ever felt. It rivaled Captain Ise's, possibly even the Captain-Commander himself. The pressure was such that Darrus' voice was modulated by the fierce bands of pressure that scorched the air. "You were right, physical cohesion is one of the facets of my soul that I can transfer and modify at will. The mistake you made was guessing that I only had two."

The sense of tremendous _reiatsu_ shifted, and Urahara could only watch. It moved towards Yoruichi, who still stood by the first sense restrained by _kido_. The woman flash stepped away, landing next to Urahara, but her efforts were ignored. Instead, as the pressure wave approached, the red glow of the way of binding flickered for barely an instant, and died. "Once the _kido_ persisted upon _both_ forms, right away you should have known the truth," said Darrus, speaking from his visible form.

"The truth?"

"That you were only seeing the residual traces of _reishii_ being restrained, and nothing more," he explained. "Not that your conclusions impressed me in the first place. Did you actually think I had only split myself into physical and spiritual facets?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time," Urahara grumbled. "What is it, then? What three facets could a hollow have to split?"

"It should be obvious," Darrus chided. "But I suppose I can spare you an explanation before the end." He sounded like the academy professors had, whenever the scraggly upstart boy from _Rukongai_ had raised a hand to challenge the thinking of the wise and powerful _shinigami_. Kisuke hadn't brought himself to hate Darrus until that very moment.

"Oh, don't do it for pity." Urahara coughed, and spat out a glob of blood. "After all, it's supposed to be curiosity that kills the cat."

Yoruichi gave him a sidelong look.

"The first facet is that of the human souls within me," the Darrus wearing the blue kimono explained.

"The second is my strength as a hollow," the _reiatsu_ thundered as it began stalking towards them.

"And finally," the last Darrus said, closing in as well, "that of the souls of _shinigami_."

"That's why you were able to hide your spiritual pressure," said Yoruichi, stepping in front of Urahara and taking a defensive stance. "The human souls didn't have much to begin with, and your _shinigami_ facet could control it."

"Exactly. But now my discourse is at an end, and with it whatever hope you had of buying time for escape. I hope your curiosity has been satisfied."

Urahara smiled. "I'm glad you bought that line, too."

Darrus' slate-grey eyes narrowed, and both halves of the spiritual pressure shifting towards them suddenly went very still.

"I knew you had more than two facets. I just needed to make sure they were all within reach before I tried this. After all, Yoruichi-_san_ would have been very angry if I were to make her suffer this experience again for nothing."

Yoruichi paled, in a look of surprise so utter and honest that surely it would count double. "Kisuke, we're inside the Court! This isn't the training cavern. You wouldn't—"

"I'm afraid I would," he said, stepping up beside her. "I hope you're warmed up, because in the imminent future you're going to need to start moving very fast. For what it's worth, I'm really sorry to put you through this a second time."

Urahara dropped into a crouch and lowered Benihime to his side, holding the blade level with the ground. Behind the bangs of ash-blonde hair, his eyes grew cold and dark. He placed his fingers on the top of the sword, his left palm resting near the hilt. As gentle and slow as an intimate caress, he ran them along the length of the _zanpakuto_. As his hand passed over, both the black and glittering grey steel halves shifted to crimson, as though the sword itself were drinking blood. His fingers reached Benihime's point, and the air was split with a high and terrible scream. Beneath the wail, Kisuke Urahara could be heard to whisper a single word.

"_Bankai_."


	11. Chapter Eleven: Paragon

**Chapter Eleven**

**Paragon**

They watched as Sighris fell.

At first Caylen had not been able to tell it was her. Even Ilara had been surprised when the three men had appeared from nowhere to join her sister in the skies above the town, and Caylen had lost all track of the battle above when the red lights had torn through the air and ground. Roc's final forlorn cry had cut through them like the end of hope, and it was then that they had known.

She was tumbling downwards like a weighted leaf, black and white and twisting in the wind. _Fly_, Caylen thought. But now the glittering light that surrounded the falling figure was unmistakable: it was the thousand brief flickers of the sun caught upon shards of glass, and of the two magnificent wings there was no sign.

_Fly_, Caylen prayed. _Fly, please. Please, fly! _He could think of nothing else until she struck the ground. The sound of it was a pitiful thing, as though the woman was nothing more than a sack of flour dropped upon the floor.

With a wordless cry of dismay, Ilara twisted away from Caylen. She ran towards her unmoving sister, who was lying on her side facing away. A red hole the size of a fist was centered between her shoulders, slowly weeping blood. The wound was eclipsed by Ilara as she stumbled to the ground beside her sister, shaking her by the arm, gasping and sobbing something that might have been her name.

Caylen walked towards them in a daze. Halfway there, his foot landed upon something strangely firm, which jarred the knight to a stop. He glanced down and saw the sword. They had all been watching Sighris, and had not even seen the weapon fall. It was hers, without a doubt. The grip was sweat-stained brown leather around a pommel of twisted gold. The crossguard was a pair of diamond wings, each the size of a hand. Caylen bent down next to it, and brushed a finger across the flat of the blade, tracing the edge of the fuller deeply incised therein. The metal was warm, but not like steel caught in the sun… instead, it felt like living flesh. Deep within the blade, resounding through his chest, he felt a pulse. Caylen flinched back in alarm. He edged around the sword and made his way to Ilara, who had rolled her sister onto her back.

The two women had never looked more different. Sighris' eyes were closed, her face calm, almost peaceful. Ilara was sobbing, her cheeks streaked with tears and her expression a frantic daze. Her hand was shrouded in a soft blue glow, and held over the hole in the woman's chest.

"There's nothing you can do," Rykker said from behind them. Caylen had not even noticed the man's approach. The Quincy's voice was gentle but firm: the voice of a priest offering consolation to those who were lost to grief. "Her lungs and spine are severed. Even a woman as strong as she cannot survive such a wound for long."

Ilara did not seem to hear him. She sobbed again, and the blue light around her hand grew brighter.

Rykker took a step forward, moving to pull the woman away, but Caylen held out an arm to stop him. "She is her sister," he said.

"Yes," the other man agreed, "but in the effort to save her she will only kill herself."

Caylen sighed, and repeated, "She is her sister." He tore his eyes from the blue light to look at Rykker. The Quincy was gazing at the sky. His glowing bow was gone, and his right hand clasped the wooden cross that hung from his neck on a leathern cord. If he meant to pray, Caylen could not fault him.

"If our friends above mean to help, they had best do something soon."

"Who are they?" the knight asked.

"Warriors from a distant land, far to the east. A realm of heaven known as Soul Society. In their language they call themselves _shinigami_, the gods of death."

The name made Caylen shiver. "An ominous title. Gods of death… Have they come for us, I wonder?"

"They were called here by the Lord Commander of my order," Ilara whispered. Even in a quiet tone, her voice was rough and harsh to hear. "To help us battle the Vasto Lorde, and end their menace once and for all." She tried to stand, but barely made it off her knees before her legs gave out. Caylen bent down to help her up, and saw the lingering blue light which permeated the skin around the hole in Sighris' chest.

"A fine start they've made on that," Rykker said. His grip on the wooden cross tightened. "The _shinigami_ are trapped, and they will not keep the hollow's attention for long. My lady, you must take Sir Caylen and escape from here. To buy you time there is only one thing I can do, but…"

The rest of his words were lost in the thunderous shockwave that burst from the sky. The three of them were thrown to the ground by the wave of energy that crashed down from above. As Caylen was trying to clear the stars from his eyes and shake the ringing from his ears, he realized that the air was growing thick, almost too much so to breathe. Around him, the blue-black distortions began flickering and growing even more intense.

A white blur slammed into the ground at the edge of Esprit's square. Moments later, Avaris climbed out from the dirt crater, glaring skywards. High above, the red cages that had trapped the _shinigami_ were gone. In their place, the three black-clad men wafted down while the Vasto Lorde stood observing their descent, his blank eyes unreadable.

"_Yare, yare_, Kijuro-_san_," one of them moaned. He was wearing a gaudy pink flowered drape over his black uniform and white cloak. "Didn't you just finish telling us that _reiatsu_ like this was going to destroy the world?"

"We must not allow this to go on any longer," the second man replied. He was no more than average in height and his black hair was streaked with gray, but he exuded a presence of strength and dignity that went far beyond his stature. "I underestimated the strength of this hollow, and I shall atone for that mistake."

"You mean to fight him alone," the third man stated. His hair was shoulder-length, tied into a ponytail, and pure white. His face was youthful, though somewhat thin and haggard.

"Neither of you can fight at the level necessary to defeat this beast without releasing your _zanpakuto_. I do not have that limitation."

"You? Fight me?" Avaris barked. "You made a pretty show of shattering my barriers, but how do you intend to fight? Are you going to read me a lullaby? Don't be a fool, old man."

It was then that Caylen noticed that the bespectacled man was unarmed. There was no sword in his hand, nor a scabbard at his hip. And all he held in his arms was a large, thick book, bound in pale leather trimmed with green illuminations. Even so, he looked far from helpless when a surge of energy limned his body in pale light.

"Don't speak above your place, boy," he snapped. "I was ending hollows a thousand years before your life began."

"How?" the hollow chuckled. "You won't end _me_ with just a lashing of your tongue."

"In that we are agreed." His right hand was cradling the book, so he brought up his left. Raising it to chest height, he waved towards the Vasto Lorde with a gesture that was no more than a lazy point. "_Hado 1: Shou_."

Between Avaris and the _shinigami_, the air itself seemed to compress. A wave surged from the man's fingers, as though the wind were being pushed forward at the edge of an invisible fist. The hollow's blank eyes widened, and it threw its arms up in front of its face. Across the square, Caylen could feel it; even the wake of the attack buffeted him like a burst of stormy wind. The Vasto Lorde slid backwards, its heels digging trenches through the ground. Avaris was pushed halfway across the town square before he finally skidded to a halt.

"Incredible, Captain Ise," the white-haired man exclaimed.

"Scary, scary," the pink-cloaked one added under his breath. "That much power from the first _hado_, even if it is you…"

The hollow growled and stood up straight. The skin of his arms and chest was raw and bruised. "I am not impressed by your sorcery, old man. If you think it can defeat me, we'll see just how well it can shield you from my claws."

"Don't take me lightly, hollow," Captain Ise replied. "If you doubt my power, another lesson can be arranged."

"You magicians and your pretty lights, I've killed many of your kind before. The Soulguard girl fancies herself an archmage, too, but even she did not face me without a sword." Avaris flexed his arms, and the wounds there disappeared. "Where are you hiding your weapon, then? Is it a dagger up your sleeve? Draw it, and let me see its strength. If you do, I may allow you live long enough to regret your choice of skills."

The captain smiled and held up his book. "My _zanpakuto_, Madoukishi, is already released. And as for its power, you've already felt it… though through just its lightest touch."

Avaris frowned, his empty eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

"I do not know how the _kido_ of Soul Society differs from that of Avalon, but under my tutelage every student of the _Shinigami_ Academy has learned at least one thing: spells are most powerful when used with their accompanying incantations. Because of this, _kido_ is a chancy ally in combat, and no one knows that better than me. It is potentially powerful, yet cumbersome, easy to interrupt or avoid." He raised his left hand again, and Avaris tensed, ready to dodge. "_Hado 4: Byakurai_."

Caylen was almost blinded by the bolt of lightning the words called forth. He felt every hair on his body stand on end as electricity filled the air. The clap of thunder was instantaneous, and echoed deep into his chest. Blinking away the jagged afterimage burned into his eyes, he saw where a stone building on the edge of the square had exploded, its innards caught in spreading flames.

Avaris stood to one side, as though he had tried to dodge. If so, he had not been successful. The hollow's right arm was smoking, its skin blackened and charred. "Impressive," he growled, his voice hoarse with pain. The blackened skin was already mending, and this wound was healing just as fast as any of the rest. "So you don't even need these incantation for your spells to hurt me, is that what you're trying to say?"

"No," the captain replied. "I'm saying that with Madoukishi, I don't need incantations at all. With my _zanpakuto_'s power, every spell I cast realizes its full and unrestricted strength. You face Kijuro Ise, Captain of the Twelfth Division of the _Gotei_ Thirteen, and the _Dai Kidocho _and founder of Soul Society's _Kido _Corps."

* * *

Once the light of _byakurai_ had faded, Kyoraku felt it safe to tilt his straw hat backwards from where it had shielded his eyes. A few stray spots still danced within his vision, and he found it a wonder that the _hado _had not torn its way through half the town. It had been years since last he saw his friend use _kido_ in anger, and the destructive potential when he did so was not easy to forget.

The 1500th anniversary of the founding of the Spiritual Arts Academy was fast approaching, and few were those in Soul Society who could claim to know what the _Gotei_ Thirteen had been like in the days before its birth. Even now though, it was common knowledge that there were three men who had made the _shinigami_ into what they were today. As founder of the Academy, as well as the Captain-Commander of the divisions, Yamamoto was rightfully the most famous. But he could never have even begun his work without the backing of Ginrei Kuchiki, whose status among the Five Great Noble Houses gave financial and political legitimacy to the project. And even then, Yamamoto's dream would never have been realized without the tireless support of his former lieutenant and fellow captain, Kijuro Ise, one of the progenitors of _kido_ as a _shinigami_ art.

Ise's understanding of the spirit way transcended the concept of simple mastery. He had originated more forms and incantations than most _shinigami_ could ever hope to learn, and his ability to weave spells together kindled constant inspiration in peers and pupils alike. Against the prattle of those who would declare the form a dead art whose potential had peaked at the discovery of the 99th and final cants, his voice alone could drown their doubts. In the hands of the average _shinigami_, _kido_ was a weapon of great potential. In the hands of Kijuro Ise, it was a beauty surpassing any art… and a tool of preternatural lethality.

Shunsui could not help but wonder, though, if even that would be enough.

"You may offer me a challenge after all," Avaris was saying. The burns on his arm were almost gone, reduced to a few faint gray patches. The claws from his right hand returned, just as long and sharp as before he had retracted them for the mortal blow on Sighris. "I still must wonder, though, how your pretty lights will fare up close."

The Vasto Lorde vanished with a harsh buzz. He reappeared next to Kijuro, his claws slashing down. They met resistance in the form of a layer of energy emanating from the palm of Ise's hand. Claws locked against the unyielding surface, the hollow lashed out with a kick. It stopped against another shield, but the strike was so vicious that it left cracks upon the surface of the protective energy. Sensing the weakness, it kicked again, but even as the screen was shattered, Kijuro flash stepped away.

The hollow gave chase, relentless in his pursuit. No sooner would Ise reappear than the Vasto Lorde was on him again, forcing him to defend and never offering the chance to counter. Pouring more _reiatsu_ into its effort, Avaris' claws and kicks crashed against the captain's barriers with increasing viciousness. The shields were still surviving one hit and sometimes two, but the hollow's strength was growing, and soon they would provide no protection at all.

Ise gave ground once more, and once again the hollow pursued. With a mighty leap, its claws lashed out straight at the captain, but this time instead of erecting a barrier, he simply sidestepped the blow. Avaris' eyed widened in surprise as Kijuro grabbed his hand near the wrist.

"_Bakudo 6: Tessa._" An iron chain sprang to life, entwining the hollow's arm. It snaked around his shoulder and began to wind about its chest. But with a sudden pang of fear, Kyoraku watched as the links stopped barely halfway down. The captain was defenseless, and the Vasto Lorde was still free to strike.

The hollow did not fail to notice, and for the span of a heartbeat it paused to gloat, a savage grin twisting at its mouth. But in that moment of hubris Ise had let go of its hand, and instead now held the chain.

"_Hado 11: Tsuzuri Raiden_." With a crackle and a golden shimmer, electricity danced along the iron links. Avaris had time only to gape in surprise before the current reached his flesh. Jagged arcs coursed over his body, and a sizzling hiss filled the air. Ise flash stepped away again, but this time the hollow did not pursue. He dropped to one knee upon the ground, and it seemed every inch of Avaris' body was emitting wisps of smoke.

Spitting out a curse, the Vasto Lorde stood up again. With all the effort it would take to brush off a cobweb, he tore the chain from his arm. The iron bands jingled as they fell to the dirt, then faded into the ground.

The skin around Kijuro's eyes tightened, and Kyoraku knew he had expected the hollow to show more of a reaction than that. He knew because that was exactly what he had been thinking as well. Even at their full power, such low-level _hado_ could not be expected to bring a foe of this caliber down, but Avaris was hardly breaking stride, and his wounds were regenerating as fast as they could be inflicted. If this was the strength of a Vasto Lorde, Kyoraku was glad they faced only one.

"Come now, captain," the hollow said, "I know you can do better than that."

"Your regeneration is impressive," the captain had to admit. "But I wonder if even you can grow something back from this. _Hado 54: Haien_." A blast of violet light moved towards the Vasto Lorde. Compared to the previous attacks it was far from impressive, and moving almost slow. Kyoraku knew right away that false modesty was the strength of this assault. Ise was hoping the hollow would stand his ground to prove his power and submit to the attack. However, the nature of this particular spell was more sinister than spectacular: the waste flame destroyed _reishii_ and could cauterize even spirit particle wounds. It might not look intimidating compared to the lightning of _byakurai_, but it packed even more wallop, and regenerating damage done by it would be difficult at the least.

Avaris watched the purple ball, scowling in contempt. Just as Ise wanted, the Vasto Lorde held up a hand to stop the strike. The ball reached his palm and the _shinigami_ dared to hope, holding their breath as they watched. Avaris grimaced, growling in anger, as the energy began to grow. It threatened to surge right over his defenses, but the hollow let loose a roar and clenched its fist. Its claws shattered the purple light into a hundred tiny pieces, which scattered through the air like flakes of lavender snow. They scored the ground behind him with dozens of small black marks.

Kyoraku couldn't believe it. The Vasto Lorde had blocked the fifty-fourth _hado_ with nothing but its bare hand.

"I will tell you once more, _shinigami_. You must do better than that." Avaris did not wait for a reply. He charged Kijuro, taking the offensive, forcing Ise back behind his shields. The hollow's attacks were no longer repetitive and sloppy, and he began pressing the captain hard. Avaris danced through the air, spinning and flipping, while striking out with both hands and feet. Even as its claws swept for the _shinigami_'s face, its red whips lashed at his back. All at once their dance had turned deadly, and the steps were ones Kijuro could not afford to miss. As long as he held Madoukishi he was fighting with just one hand, and where the hollow could be bold or even a little reckless, the captain had to be mindful of taking wounds.

For any _kido _user defensive barriers were an essential skill, and for one with no sword such as Kijuro, they became even more so. The shields could keep an enemy at bay, but they were also very draining to use. Every strike deflected by the energy did not do damage, but it still took a physical toll akin to stopping the blow with a bare hand. What that meant was that the barriers bought time, but they could not be used for long.

Ise knew this as well as anyone, but dividing his concentration between offense and defense was a move that risked certain doom. One barrier mistimed, one shield emplaced too weak, and he would be dead before he could even think of casting a counterattack. And while the hollow was relentless, striking out with purpose and killing intent, it also was staying wary. This time a counter would not be so simple as dodging an attack, or lulling his opponent into a false sense of security by letting him inside his defense. There _was_ a weakness to the offensive, however. A fairly large one, in fact. Kyoraku had seen it, which meant Ise certainly had too, but now it was a matter of watching for the right circumstances to exploit.

Avaris pressed in, his strikes on the shields relentless, never backing off once. In the short space between two blows, Ise took his chance. He stepped back, crossing his arms, and held his book close to his chest. Fearing a trap, the hollow hesitated an instant, but then took a swing at his foe. The strike was stopped short like the others, but not against a flat plane. Instead this shield was ovoid in shape, and surrounded the captain from his head all the way down to his toes.

Ise looked at the hollow with a strange glimmer in his eyes, and Shunsui felt as if his blood had suddenly run cold. "Kijuro-_san_, no!"

"_Hado 90: Kurohitsugi_."

The black coffin entombed them both.

Kyoraku stared at the darkness that formed, blocking both his friend and the Vasto Lorde from view. This attack was pure madness. The ninetieth _hado_ was more than just destructive, it was a spell used only when the intent was to kill. Even captains feared the spells beyond eighty-nine, which had no known counter or defense. Surviving them was a matter of sheer spiritual pressure, but against one at full power, barrier or not, could even Kijuro Ise survive? As the walls began to fade a weight settled in Shunsui's chest, and he knew with rising dread that they were just about to find out.

The first thing they saw, and the one most distressing, was the fact that Avaris still stood. His body was covered in so many cuts he had turned more black than white. His pale eyes were wide pools in the middle of his face, and his body stood hunched and shivering with rage.

The last fragments of his barrier falling in translucent splinters to the ground, Kijuro was down on one knee. His _haori_ was torn and spattered with blood, some black but most bright red. His _shihakusho_ was still in one piece, though rent through to the skin all across the once-black cloth. A few cuts lined his face, but his spectacles were intact.

"You fool," Avaris spluttered, wiping at blood with the back of his hand. "You clever, crazy fool. Were you really this desperate? Were you really so naïve? Did you for a single second think that mad gamble of yours would actually workon _me_?" With a bestial roar aimed at the sky, the hollow's _reiatsu_ burst out like a tidal wave. The power was massive, beyond simply frightening, and in the span of a heartbeat its wounds disappeared. It was more than healing, more than regeneration. The Vasto Lorde's body looked flawlessly renewed.

"You will learn from this folly, if I have to beat the knowledge into your head. You will scream with your dying breath the truth I will teach you now. You will cry out to your makers with one final admission: that there is no Soulguard, no _shinigami_, no being alive in all of heaven and Earth that can contest the power of the Eternal Mender, Avaris Grangried!" The hollow's spiritual pressure surged yet again, drowning the world itself in his strength. Kyoraku watched the black distortions grow larger, even as countless new ones were formed. Hesitant to draw on his own spirit power, even Shunsui felt his knees give a bit of a shiver at the sense.

"So you say," Kijuro whispered. The _reiatsu_ broke across him like waves upon a cliff, and the captain showed no sign of noticing it as he pushed himself back to his feet. "You seem intent on ripping the worlds to pieces before you have a chance to prove your grand claims. I fear that in so doing so you have left me little choice."

The hollow's spirit pressure was joined by a second tide that rose through the town square. From the bespectacled captain a new strength was born, as he finally let his self-imposed bonds drop away. The _reiatsu_ was so intense that even Shunsui couldn't help it, and against this pair of unworldly pressures, the otherwise unflappable rake felt himself falling as he dropped down to one knee. Beside him in the tempest Juushiro was struggling as well, sweat matting down his hair as he gasped to catch his breath.

"_Oi_, Juushiro, I don't think the world will mind if we loose enough power to live and see this show." The pale captain only nodded, and both of them drew on their own suppressed _reiryoku_. To Juushiro, Shunsui offered some of his strength, and the sound of him breathing easier had both captains relieved.

Meanwhile Ise's _reiatsu_ continued to rise, and Avaris took a half-step back. Around them the distortions were more than just growing now, as a few had begun to merge. They twisted together, warping and shifting, their size several times what it had been before. Dust was kicking up in a rising fierce wind, and being drawn with other debris up and into the rifts. Some were so large now that they could actually see through, and from within the twisting distortion they glimpsed the world beyond. Avalon or Soul Society, no one there could tell, but the afterlife could be seen clearly by anyone looking through the tears. The pull of the rifts was drawing in more flotsam, and the living world itself seemed to be trying to surge through the expanding holes.

Kijuro spoke again once his spiritual pressure had reached its peak. "It is clear to me now that there is no one spell that can kill you," he said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. "So then I will strike you with so many that no amount of regeneration could possibly save your hide." He held Madoukishi aloft, and then let go of the book. Perfectly still, it stayed hovering where he had left it in the air.

"_Bankai_."

The book opened. For a single breathless moment, all the riled air in the courtyard seemed to stop. Then ever so gently, as if brushed by a breeze, the first page of Madoukishi was turned. Then a second, followed by another, faster with each rustling sheet. The sound of them snapping past filled the becalmed air, a parchment song, sharp and vibrant, that rolled through Esprit's streets. The pages were turning too fast to be counted now, so fast that the book was tearing apart. Fragments of paper were ripping out, wafting away on the wind. They flitted here and there, spinning about with the captain at their heart. The scraps started glowing, and then began growing, until each was an orb the size of a fist. They filled the air around him, whirling and dancing, like will 'o wisps caught in the wind.

"_Madoukishi Junseikioku_," Captain Kijuro Ise declared. "Can you count them, hollow?" The orbs all came to a stop as the captain held out his empty hands.

Avaris looked wary. His left hand twitched, his _cero_ whips brushing the ground. "A pretty show you've put on. A few dozen fireworks, are they?"

"If you can't count that high, then I will tell you. There are one hundred and ninety-eight," said Kijuro, his voice cold and precise.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Avaris spat back. "Whatever their number, I don't see why I should care."

"It means a great deal. You see, there are two schools of _kido_. Each school has ten levels. And each level has ten spells, except the last, which has only nine."

"Fascinating," the hollow drawled. "What of it?"

"Mathematics is obviously not one of your strengths. That adds up to two schools, each with ninety-nine spells, for a total of one hundred and ninety-eight. Each of the orbs you see around me now is a _kido_ in its rawest, most primal form: that of the pure energy that contains the cost of each and every known spell."

Avaris chuckled. "So each of those orbs is a single spell? As weak as some of your parlor tricks are, I doubt I could even feel half of them when they hit."

"That is not what I said. You see, when the original _kido_ masters of Soul Society were first learning their craft, the art was not so structured or defined." Ise held up his right hand, and half of the glowing spheres around him resumed their orbits, spinning through the air. Slowly at first, they began to move faster and faster as the wizened _shinigami _spoke. "But there has always existed one fundamental rule, of which the simplest explanation is that every _kido_ has a cost."

"I believe I like this even better. The cost of each, you say? What do you think you're going to do against me with two hundred tiny balls of spiritual energy?"

Ise smiled, but it was an expression with no humor or mirth. It was a cold smile, a scornful look of something almost like pity. "You are correct in that every _kido_ requires _reiryoku_ to cast, and of course this is a resource which _shinigami_ have to spare. But the effort of casting a spell is not what I hold here. During their search for newer and more powerful spells, the masters noticed that the costs were rising, and the farther they advanced the faster they grew out of control. The masters were losing parts of themselves, inside and out, until by the time they had defined the ninety-ninth incantations, using the spell nearly claimed the caster's life."

Avaris' gaze darkened as the words began to sink in. "So you're saying that within some of those orbs is enough spiritual power enough to kill me, is that it?"

"Still you fail to see… Perhaps I was not clear. Like any human art, _kido_ grew as it evolved. In the beginning, spells came easily, and were just as simple to cast as they were to think up. Then they became more complex, and more difficult to execute. Eventually it was a struggle to realize each new cant, a work of many minds over a time of many years, and the effort required to cast these spells was more than many souls could bear."

"You're babbling, old man, and I don't need a history lesson to know that the power to defeat me does not exist. Not within you, not even if you believe that all your forebears are standing at your back."

Ise sighed. "I think I see your misunderstanding. Do not confuse a 'cost' and a 'price.' I can hand a merchant a coin and be given back an item I want. I can give the merchant more coin, and be given something more valuable than that. That is what we call a price. _Reiatsu_ is not currency, however, and _kido_ are more than just products bought from a succession of more expensive stalls. No, a cost is much greater than that. It is a trade, an offering, a result… a combination of all the things a _shinigami_ must use to form a proper _kido_, along with everything they receive in return. These orbs are more than just spells. They are the raw elemental nature of what every _kido_ is, was, or ever has been. They are the distilled efforts of their formation, creation, and use. They are the accumulation of energies of the masters who created them, as well as the spirits of countless _shinigami_ who have cast each spell countless times."

Avaris scowled. "If you think I'll buy that, then you're an utter fool. You expect me to believe that every time someone wiggles their fingers, your _bankai_ gets stronger? Don't be absurd."

The captain shook his head. "So be it. It is my belief that failures such as this can only be the fault of the teacher… provided their student has a desire to learn. I should not rush to judgment, of course. I am well aware that many pupils benefit from an effective demonstration."

Ise raised his hand, and – save one – all the orbs came to a stop. The single moving sphere drifted down to rest in his palm. "This is the orb of_ shou_, the very first _hado_, which I believe you're familiar with. As you felt yourself, even at its most potent it is not a terribly destructive spell. Still, it serves its purpose, and its cost was not extreme."

Avaris threw back his head and laughed. "We've been down this road, _shinigami_, you just said so yourself. That spell cannot hurt me, let alone end this fight."

"Continue to believe that. But watch now, and learn." Ise threw the orb into the sky. It shot off faster than an arrow, moving more quickly than they could see. For a long moment they waited, but the time kept stretching on, until even Kyoraku couldn't be sure what Kijuro had in mind.

A noiseless light flashed in the sky, bright enough to draw their gaze. Shunsui blinked and rubbed his eyes, curious at what he saw. On the trail of waning daylight the moon was rising in the late summer dusk. Kyoraku's eyes narrowed, but he only grew more confused. Having watched it rise from the steps of Kijuro's manse the night before, he was sure it should be just past full.

But there low in the sky above the town, the moon was crescent now. It did not have the usual wide edges of the typical crescent shape. Instead it was a tight semicircle, cut straight out from the moon's lit side.

"Ah, Kijuro-_kun_," Shunsui called weakly, rubbing his forehead, "I'm pretty sure your division's repair budget will not cover that."

Avaris was not so much staring at the sight as gawking in disbelief. "You… you can't possibly intend to use a power like that." His head swiveled to face the captain, blank eyes wide with fear. "You'd destroy the Earth along with me!"

"That was just an example of the force you will have to survive. But if you think I can't control my own power, boy, you're more foolish than I feared." Kijuro's glare was pitiless. "A fire will burn the hand that wields it, but only if one is too stupid to make a torch. The focus and the scale of each orb are variables well within my grasp, and the power I used just now can be concentrated until it is enough to destroy only you."

Avaris' breath hissed through his nostrils, and anger seemed to replace his fear. "If you think you can control such power, I welcome you to try. If you think my only defense lies in regeneration, I will show you differently." He raised his left hand and its _cero_ lashes high above his head. The long red trails were extending so they still brushed along the ground. Avaris began to twirl his hand, drawing the whips around his body in long, repeating loops.

"_Cero látigo:_ _Égida!_" the hollow called, and his body vanished behind a red haze. Every pass of the five tendrils left behind a crimson shield, and the arcs of their passage were growing wider as they watched, putting the hollow behind many layers of protection that were deepening rapidly.

Ise realized what the Vasto Lorde was doing, and knowing firsthand the strength of Avaris' barriers, Kyoraku only hoped it was not too late. The senior captain loosed a curse, drawing in the orbs of his _bankai_ with a wave. "Get down!" he yelled to no one in particular, as the spheres danced together at his back. A storm of fist-sized hailstones spinning wildly through the air, he threw them forward towards the hollow, all two hundred orbs of light.

Grabbing Juushiro by the scruff of his collar, Shunsui bolted to the edge of the square. He threw them behind the nearest cover, little more than a low stone wall. Even pressing his face into the dirt and screwing his eyes shut tight, the whole world disappeared around him in a blinding mass of white.


	12. Chapter Twelve: Volatility

**Chapter Twelve**

**Volatility**

Throughout the streets of Soul Society there rang a terrible scream. Originating from the _Daireimon_ Square, it could be heard for miles around. It rose up like a living thing, an invisible body writhing through the air. The sound drew the eyes of all who heard it, and filled their hearts with dread. It sounded differently to all of them, but none would ever wish to hear it again. Hardened warriors scrambled for dark corners to hide from a strange, high hollow's howl. Mothers fled from their homes, frightened beyond reason, from the sound of a wailing child. Even the animals in the _Seireitei_'s wilderness scampered for the safety of their dens. Man or beast, _shinigami_ or hollow, all cowered before the cry.

Kisuke Urahara did not hear it. In his ears and in his mind, her voice sweet as a siren, Benihime sang.

In the honesty of reason that can be found in the depths of an introspective soul, Urahara hated his _zanpakuto_. He loved her as well, every bit as fiercely. Just like the spirits of all _shinigami_ weapons, she was so much like him. Canny and clever, Benihime delighted as much in outwitting him as he did anyone else. And like so many people who knew they were better than someone at something, she could be cruel as well. In short, Benihime was everything that Urahara could be… and just as he once had been.

He had become more than that, more than the street urchin surviving in _Rukongai_ with no ally but his wits. He had come to the Academy little more than a beggar, owning only the clothes on his back. He had pushed himself to the top, not because that was his nature, but because he had nowhere else to go. To make himself the best he had trampled anyone in front of him, uncaring of their feelings or pride. Looking back he knew beyond all certainty that he probably would have gotten himself killed, except somewhere in all his antics, he had drawn the gaze of a pair of golden eyes. Given a home in the Shihouin estate, there he had found friends as well. To soothe his fierce edges he had Yoruichi and Tessai Tsukabishi… but Benihime had only him.

This influence had never been clearer than when he had first used the _tenshintai_ to forcibly manifest her spirit. A very small part of her had been impressed at his industriousness and ingenuity, but the rest of her had despised him with open hostility. To be manipulated and bullied into a situation for someone else's advantage… he could hardly fault her, since he would have been furious, too. He couldn't be certain, being the only person who had ever used the device to achieve the final release, but he possessed a strong belief just short of theory that the method had unalterably affected the realization of his _bankai_.

The energy pouring out from his _zanpakuto_ stained the once-white tiles of the _Daireimon_ Square the color of fresh blood. Centered on Urahara, the hue spread across almost the entire courtyard, giving the area every impression of having been the scene of a grisly massacre. But it did not stop there. The color spread upwards, rising over their heads to enclose them in a translucent crimson dome. The light of the moon still reached them inside, tinged an ominous red. Kisuke's bloodmist shield settled in directly above him, while Yoruichi stared at the sky with uncharacteristic dismay.

"_Susurinaki Benihime_," Urahara announced.

Darrus peered at the walls and floor, examining the spirit energy with his senses. He even gave a few shallow sniffs, testing for changes in the air. His gaze swept slowly from side to side, and then up to the sky above them. He paused at the sight of dark slits in the dome, which had the impression of two closed eyes. "Interesting." He looked at Kisuke. "Do you believe you've trapped me here?"

Urahara did not answer. From the roof of the dome high above, the two dark eyes cracked open. A thin line of deeper blackness bloomed, and that was when the first teardrop fell. It struck the ground between the _shinigami_ and Darrus with the soft tenor of rain, and in the otherwise empty silence the sound pounded them like a shout. A second drop fell, then a third and a fourth, like the first hints of an arriving shower. Yoruichi was staring at the sky directly above, her eyes wide and every muscle tense.

_Stay with me, Yoruichi. All we need now is time._

Darrus seemed to take note of her distraction, and reacted accordingly. The two auras of his _reiatsu_, both hollow and _shinigami_, began edging forward towards the woman who seemed so openly preoccupied.

Her eyes narrowed and then her whole body twitched, and with a burst of speed she flash stepped away. Not from the hollow's advance, or from any apparent attack, but from a pitch-black droplet that landed on the tile where she had stood. She reappeared beside Urahara, almost uncomfortably close, trying to huddle next to him beneath the bloodmist shield.

Darrus watched this with curiosity, perhaps trying to determine if it was some kind of bait, or an act. "Fascinating," he said, stepping aside himself as a bead of dark liquid fell near his foot. The motion was made with casual indifference, like someone moving around a puddle to avoid getting mud on their shoe. Striding forward, he did not notice that while it made the sound of falling rain, the droplet did not strike the ground; instead, it seemed to pass straight through the red energy covering it. A few seconds later, another drop fell through the exact same spot, but Darrus did not see that, either. His focus was entirely on Urahara and Yoruichi. "Putting yourselves that close together, I might think you were trying to lure me into some kind of reckless attack."

Urahara knew better, though, even if the hollow did not. The look on Yoruichi's face was pure, honest fear. For a fleeting moment he regretted their situation, even when he knew deep down that they had no other choice. Had he given her the chance to escape, a part of the hollow would doubtless have given chase, and against this foe that separation would have made this all for naught. He just needed time, a few extra minutes; that would be all it would take. The droplets were falling, but widely scattered. Each tear that fell was doing so in an endless loop, again and again in the same exact spot, but new drops were slow in coming. "You'll be all right, Yoruichi-_san_," he whispered over his shoulder. "You know what you have to do."

"Kisuke," she breathed, her voice strained, almost unrecognizable, "if we live through this, I'm going to kill you." Her eyes never left the sullen red sky.

"You tire me, _shinigami_," Darrus said with disappointment. "I had hoped a third seat with _bankai_ would prove more interesting than this. If the worst you can do is dampen my clothes, I will put an end to this now." He looked to one side, towards his _shinigami_ aspect, and it began to move towards them. Mindful of a trap and still uncertain of Kisuke's new powers, the hollow was taking a cautious approach… but one that led it right underneath where one of the tears had begun falling.

The timing was as good as Urahara could hope for, and he tried to keep his face impassive as he watched. The black droplet fell through the sky, and landed just as the advancing _reiatsu_ stepped into its path. Whether in preparation for the attack, or through sheer luck on their part, this was the form of Darrus that was physically manifest. The droplet splashed down on its head, or perhaps on a shoulder, though the location did not matter one bit. The _reiatsu_ stopped dead, and Darrus' eyes narrowed. Then the spirit form began to visibly shake. In the moonlight they had not seen it before, but against the backdrop of red it had the faintest of outlines, like the quivering of the air above stone tiles baked by the afternoon sun. The outline grew stronger when the _reiatsu_'s sense flared, lashing out like a man who was fighting blind. The spirit signature twisted, staggering back and forth, and a sudden roar echoed through the square.

The hands of the visible Darrus shot to his temple. With a pained grunt, the hollow shook his head. "What…" he gasped, "what are you doing?"

"I wonder," said Urahara, idly stroking his chin, "just how your spiritual separation affects the power of Benihime's tears."

Through luck, or perhaps just instinct, the hollow at last mustered the presence of mind to make his _shinigami _facet incoherent. Within the haze, the droplet fell to belatedly pass through the ground. Darrus gasped, glaring at Urahara, his eyes wide and somewhat shaken. "What the devil was that?"

"If you didn't get a good look, please just be patient, I'm sure another tear will land on you soon." On the underside of the dome, the eyes were still creeping open. The black rain fell from all points of the roof, and the pace was picking up. Black streaks marked the tiles of the square all across the smooth red blanket. Upon the bloodmist shield above Urahara and Yoruichi, a few drops had fallen, but not passed through.

"I must give you credit, _shinigami_," Darrus said, glaring up at the two dark eyes. "I've never before felt an attack like this. What is it, some kind of acid?"

_So that's what you felt_, Urahara thought. _Interesting_. Outwardly, he only smiled.

"Whatever this is, I won't give it a chance to get worse," Darrus decided. All pretense abandoned, his _reiatsu_ shadows both charged directly at them.

With no small reluctance, Yoruichi abandoned the only available cover from the tears. Urahara was relieved when neither pressure sense gave chase; it would seem that he had gained the hollow's undivided attention.

Pitted against two foes, Kisuke knew he was at a massive disadvantage, and that fact was compounded without full use of his bloodmist shield. Darrus' abilities and the strength of each of his forms complicated matters, even if only one of them could strike him at a time. Their most significant advantage, though, remained their invisibility. Urahara's first exchange had proven that his _reiatsu_ sensing abilities alone were not sufficient for swordplay. He could not run, but neither could he stand and fight against two invisible opponents.

They were upon him now. Urahara dodged the opening attack, jumping high into the air. "_Nake, Benihime_." With a shrill whistle, a wave of red energy burst from the sword, tracking towards Darrus' twin shadows. Even as it closed in on them, he began to chant. "_Salted field, dried river. Spore of dead flowers, repent from the wind…_"

His attack missed, striking the ground in between the two _reiatsu_, tearing into the tiles and the ground. Benihime's red energy flowed to fill in the gap the divot had left. His opponents sidestepped the crater, and he could feel them looking up at him. Within the walls of the _Seireitei_, Urahara couldn't gather spirit particles to guide his flight as he might have elsewhere in Soul Society or in the living world. He was now at the mercy of physics as much as his foes.

"…_Seek ye life, sustain death, sow the sand of lush deserts…_"

His attack having missed, Kisuke knew he must have seemed a tempting target. The pair leapt into the air after him. Darrus meant to exploit his vulnerability to put an end to the fight before his _bankai_ could do any more damage. Good.

"_Rise to the call of a carrion crow, and reap the harvest of winter._"

The only certain thing in this plan was that if it didn't work, Yoruichi was going to be very mad at him.

"_Bakudo 42: Kuitsukusu Ginbai_." A cloud of fine silvery dust bloomed from his hands, filling the air between him and the duo of fast-approaching spiritual pressures.

"You disappoint me, _shinigami_," Darrus called from below. "Your _kido_ cannot touch me."

The hollow's doppelgangers passed right through the cloud, showing no signs of being slowed, redirected, or hindered whatsoever. Risky as it was with Benihime's tears falling around him, Urahara was forced to lower his bloodmist shield. It was that, or become an unsightly stain on the tiles of the _Seireitei_. As it was, the vicious blow the shield absorbed sent him tumbling to the ground, but at least he landed in one piece.

As he scrambled back to his feet, he looked across the square at Darrus… and smiled. "I see you."

The hollow stared with disbelief. Not at Urahara, but at his own shadows. They stood across from the sandy-haired man, their bodies just as clearly visible as Urahara in his dingy and torn _shihakusho_, thanks to the glittering grey dust that clung to them. Both were near-human in size and shape, though the hollow half was noticeably taller. For its part, the _shinigami_ form could clearly be seen to hold a sword. They swatted at the revealing particles as if they were trying to brush them off, but the gestures had no effect.

"How…" Darrus gasped.

"The forty-second bakudo is quite pretty, don't you think?" Urahara replied. "Though it belies a rather nasty purpose. You say you're making your forms physically invulnerable, but all you're really doing is redirecting your own spiritual energy. Essentially, it's the mirror image of a _shinigami_ who emits spiritual pressure towards a certain point to intimidate or subdue an opponent, only instead of directing your output, you control your source. It always has to be somewhere, though, which is why some part of you is always tangible."

"That doesn't explain why you're suddenly able to affect my facets. What have you done?"

"The answer is obvious: I used a spell that affects not _reishii_, but spiritual pressure. _Kuitsukusu Ginbai_ is most often used by the _Onmitsukido_'s Detention Unit as a punitive measure, draining prisoners of their spirit energy. You see, those particles bond to _reiatsu_ and absorb it. While you may be able to transfer your _reiryoku_ and make your forms intangible to _kido_, _zanpakuto_, or even melee attacks – which are really all just different forms of energy themselves – your _reiatsu_ is a constant, and so the spell had exactly what it needed."

"Very clever," said Darrus.

"Why, thank you."

"Clever, but useless," the hollow clarified. "If you expected this spell to sap me of my strength, you will be dead before you're able to notice a difference."

Urahara _tsk_ed at his opponent, wagging a finger. "I never said I did it to drain your strength. I did it so I could see you." He drew Benihime back and loosed a horizontal slash. Another wave of red energy cut the air with a high skirl, and Urahara was right behind it.

The difference was night and day. He still couldn't know which form was coherent, or even if either of them were, but now he could _fight_ them. He could read their stances, sense their balance, and gauge their inertia and momentum. He could shift around their defenses, discern where an attack was coming from, and see its angle and speed. It was true that they still had him two-to-one, but that didn't mean much, considering Kisuke's usual sparring partner was the fastest woman alive. Sometimes it felt like Yoruichi had him four-to-one without even drawing her sword.

Feint. Counter. Slash. This was a situation he could handle. This was a set of circumstances he could adapt to and control. Parry. Thrust. Dodge. Their unique abilities made them unpredictable, and both were still fearsomely strong, but Urahara had them on their heels. Darrus was not accustomed to his foes fighting back, and it showed. His style was defensive, almost hesitant. Knowing what effect his _bankai_ had on the hollow, that made sense to Urahara. Darrus was not accustomed to pain.

Benihime's tears grew more intense with every passing second. By Urahara's best count his opponents had been struck at least a half-dozen times by now, but the hollow had taken the lesson to heart from his first taste of their power. Throughout their duel, Darrus had been rapidly rotating the source of his spiritual energy, so even if a body was struck the tear's touch would not long affect him. Kisuke knew that just one drop would not be near enough to stop the hollow in that case. Whatever effects were passed between his forms, it was clear that as long as Darrus had a single body untouched he could still control his _reiryoku_, and that meant Urahara needed more time for Benihime's eyes to open.

His advantage over the hollow's aspects was diminishing as the surprise wore off. The rain had grown too intense to risk bringing down his bloodmist shield for even an instant. Without it Kisuke was forced to stay on the offensive, and that was not going to be possible for much longer. They were starting to land some of their counterattacks, and soon it was all he could do to keep them both in front of him.

Nor could he ask for Yoruichi's help. Her form was a near-constant blur in a far corner of the dome, and she was intent in her exercise of quite literally dodging raindrops. The display would have been even more impressive had he not known the price the Goddess of Flash had paid to learn it. Thanks to its divided nature, the hollow could weather the touch of Benihime's tears, but neither of the _shinigami_ had that luxury.

One of the hollow's facets finally got behind him. With the certainty of dread, he could feel the attack coming, and he knew there was no way to dodge it.

With a moan that resounded into the depths of his chest, Benihime's eyes opened.

The slits in the dome had become two black pits, and in an instant the rain became a downpour. The hollow's forms froze, their eyes drawn towards the sound, and for a split-second his prey was forgotten. Urahara did not squander the moment. He crossed the square in a flash, arriving next to Yoruichi, putting them both beneath his bloodmist shield. They looked back just as the torrent fell upon Darrus.

_Shinigami_, hollow, and human, all three of his forms began screaming at once. Even if he could still shift his physical form, the rain was falling too hard for it to matter. The tears were soaking his bodies, all three of them, and they were all writhing in pain.

With Yoruichi pressed against him beneath the shield, Urahara could feel her shivering, her whole body overcome with nervous relief. Her voice was no more than a whisper. "What is he…"

"Pain," Kisuke said, almost sadly, as he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "His mind won't last long."

Still crying out, barely even standing, Darrus' body was bent over double. He emitted a sharp pulse of spiritual pressure. More followed the first, like the death throes of a beast, dying slowly and in great agony.

Urahara's eyes narrowed. Around the hollow, for just the briefest of moments in time with a _reiatsu_ thrash, the rain had been pushed to a stop. It started falling again, but another pulse came, and another again on its heels. "Oh, no…"

Darrus' cries of pain ascended into a deafening roar, and with it came his spiritual pressure. It burst forth with an intensity Urahara had never before felt, and a physical force that pushed back the falling tears. It grew like a bubble, slowly pushing upwards, until the rain was being pressed against the roof of the dome. It didn't break through, but that just made it worse when the torrent sought a new outlet. The pressure bubble kept growing, and with a cold feeling deep in the put of his stomach, Kisuke watched the full force of his _bankai _being pushed inexorably back towards them.

There were so many drops that they had become one solid wave, and it was going to break right on top of their heads. With no time to think, Urahara threw Yoruichi to the ground and covered her body with his. Screwing his eyes shut, he brought the bloodmist shield down and laid the flat plane directly atop them.

He never felt the wave hit, nor did he feel himself get wet. The only sound around them was silence. The oddness of that fact sank in, and hesitantly he cracked one eye open. The _Daireimon_ Square was awash in silver moonlight, and empty save for he and Yoruichi. Darrus was nowhere to be seen. His _bankai_ was gone, too, but for the life of him Kisuke could not remember resealing his release.

A sudden sharp pain in his ribs drew him out of his thoughts, and he tumbled over, landing right on his backside. "That hurt, Yoruichi," he complained, rubbing his chest.

"Shut up," she spat back. There was no trace of playfulness in her tone.

Urahara pushed himself back to his feet. "Where did Darrus go?" he wondered.

"How should I know, you fool?" She was glaring at him, face twisted in an unnatural scowl.

"Now, now, Yoruichi-_san_, I know that you had a bad experience when I first used my _bankai_, but…"

"Do you think that matters to me?"

He frowned. "I'm sorry. I had no choice, not if we were going to beat that hollow. I didn't know what else to do."

"That's nothing new," a deep voice put in from behind them.

Urahara whirled. "Tessai-_san_?" he gasped. "When did you get here?"

The form of Tessai Tsukabishi stood there, clad in a _shihakusho_. From his towering height, he glowered down at him. His thick mustache drooped on each side of a distressing scowl, and his arms were crossed at his chest. Behind shaded spectacles, his eyes were unreadable. "How shocking, you didn't notice. Admit it, you never even thought I would be here. Nor would you have wanted me to."

"Well, if I had known my division's fourth seat was skulking about, of course I'd have asked for your help," Urahara had never felt so uncomfortable before in the presence of his two closest companions. He rubbed the back of his neck and tried a chuckle to lighten the mood. The sound died in his throat, and certainly did not reach his friends' faces.

"You never were very bright," Yoruichi snapped. "We were standing here this whole time, waiting for you to get off your lazy ass."

"That's not fair," Kisuke said weakly. "I was doing the best that I could."

"With the usual results," Tessai scoffed. "All I saw was you making a mess, Urahara-_dono_." The honorific was spat out like an insult. For as long as Kisuke had known him, Tessai's voice had always been calm, as deep and soothing as a tide, but that just made this hurt even more.

"Ah, well, I'm sorry about that," Urahara stammered. "But it was for a good cause."

"What cause was that?" the other man rumbled back. "Your own amusement?"

"You're being unfair," he muttered weakly. "Yoruichi, tell him."

Her golden eyes bore back into his with no shred of sympathy in them. "Do you think I care what _you_ feel?"

He blinked at her. He felt his mouth work open and closed, as though it had a mind of its own. He certainly couldn't come up with any words that would move it.

"Tessai, let's go," Yoruichi said. "Talking is all that he was ever good at, and this scum isn't even able to do that anymore."

"W-wait!" he called at their backs. This was all happening too fast. He couldn't comprehend why they had turned to leave him. "Where are you going?"

"Away from you," thundered Tessai, without looking back.

"Hmph," Yoruichi snorted. She stopped, and hope flickered to life in his chest. He knew Yoruichi would never treat him like this. Maybe it was all just some elaborate joke. But when she turned, the look he saw in her eyes hurt him more than he believed any words could have… until she spoke. "We should have left you to rot in _Rukongai_."

The effort of standing was suddenly more than Urahara could bear. He collapsed to his hands and knees, struggling to breathe through the tightness in his chest. His mind was racing, trying to find some sense, some logic, some reason in what was happening to him.

Beneath the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, he heard a voice call out his name. Its timbre was painfully familiar, a fresh open wound in his heart. _We should have left you to rot_… But those were not the words the voice was saying. Nor did the voice have that dagger-sharp note of disgust as it shouted above the roaring of the air and the dull patter of rain.

"Kisuke!"

His lungs were burning. He drew in a gasping breath, sitting up with a start. Yoruichi was looking at him, but her eyes were filled with concern, not hatred, and her dark skin was tinged not with the silver sheen of moonlight, but the crimson hue of Benihime's energy. His bloodmist shield hovered above them, and to their sides stood the walls of his _bankai_.

"By all the heavens, Kisuke, you scared me half to death!" Yoruichi said, relief evident in her voice. "I had to burn off half your clothes with _kido_ to get you dry again."

He could feel that without even looking, as his skin was raw all along the left side of his body. His sleeve on that side was missing, along with most of the _kosode_ it had been attached to. Most of the leg of his _hakama_ was gone as well. "I hope you enjoyed the view," he croaked, trying to keep his voice even. His mind was still reeling as it tried to reconcile the Yoruichi he had spoken with moments before with the one next to him beneath Benihime's protective shield.

"I don't know how you managed to keep me dry when those tears hit us. I'm just glad you managed to close her eyes before we were drowned."

Wishing he could remember his own quick-thinking gallantry, Kisuke glared down at the sword in his hand. "Traitorous wench," he grunted with grudging affection.

Still kneeling by his side, Yoruichi gave him a playful half-smile. "You're welcome."

He struggled back to his feet. His body felt as though it had been crushed beneath a gillian's boot. Every muscle was tingling with protest. It even hurt to move his eyes. "How long was I out?"

"Just a few seconds."

He groaned. It certainly had felt longer than that. "Darrus?" he asked.

"You gave him your best shot," Yoruichi's tone and expression were both grim as she looked across the square. "But I'm afraid he's more angry than dead."

The hollow's three forms were in various states of dishevelment, but they still looked better off than Urahara felt. After witnessing the incredible outpouring of _reiatsu_ to push back his _bankai_, Kisuke almost hoped that the hollow had exhausted itself. They were not that fortunate, it would seem, but Darrus was noticeably weaker.

"Enjoy a taste of your own hellfire, _shinigami_?" he called. "It was no more than you deserved."

"Benihime's tears give everyone something different," said Urahara. "But nothing that anyone deserves."

"I heard no such sympathy when I was on the receiving end."

Urahara frowned. "I had no other way to counter all of your facets at once. I didn't choose my power, but I would've been a fool not to make use of it."

A few drops had again begun to fall from the roof of the dome as Urahara tried to reawaken Benihime. His own strength was flagging, but with any luck he and Yoruichi would be able to finish off the weakened hollow without need of his _bankai_'s full force. Not that he was about to try it again, considering how Darrus had countered it the first time.

Darrus watched the droplets begin to fall with open contempt, and no small note of apprehension. "Do you think you can survive another dose of that power, _shinigami_?"

"Can you?" he countered. "You don't even yet understand what it is you're up against."

"I understand it well enough to defeat it."

Urahara shook his head. "No, you don't, or you'd never make such a claim. Within these walls, the influence of Benihime's tears is more than anyone can overcome. You can flee from it, for a time. You can push it back, or try to rise above, but it will pursue you. You can hide, but it will find you. The power of my _bankai_ is something no one can master, not even myself. The power of Susurinaki Benihime is that of absolute fear."

Darrus looked at him for a long moment, his expression carefully controlled. "What did you say?"

"All beings know fear. Humans, _shinigami_, hollows, even the most primitive beasts. We use it to survive, but when fear overcomes us, it can kill us as surely as any sword. The touch of these black tears draws out your darkest terror, and draws it closer until you can't see, or hear, or smell, or touch. You are consumed by your fear, immersed in it, until your mind cannot cope with the sensation."

"Killed by fear? Ridiculous."

"Is it really so hard to believe?" asked Urahara. "You, a hollow with the ability to hide from foes and prey alike, and to make parts of yourself all but invulnerable, what would you fear more than agonizing, inescapable pain? And in order to escape pain, our bodies withdraw from it. Nerves are deadened. We lose consciousness. If even that cannot push you away from pain, eventually our bodies will shut themselves down entirely, resolved that what is broken cannot be fixed, and that a life in agony cannot move forward at all."

The rain was beginning to pick up again, but it was not yet enough. Urahara reached deep down, struggling for the last few shreds of _reiatsu_ he had, hoping he would be strong enough to see this through.

Darrus was glaring at him with growing distemper, his once-calm and unaffected demeanor vanishing by inches. "I have lived for a long time, _shinigami_. I have seen many things, done many things. But none were ever this cruel."

"If it were in my power, I wouldn't choose such a fate for you," Kisuke said. "But if it's a choice between that and the safety of Soul Society, my duty as a _shinigami_, I will do what must…" he trailed off. A low rumble had begun, more felt than heard. The tiles beneath their feet began to creak and rattle. The feel of the _reiatsu_ in the air grew foul and twisted. Through the red haze of his _bankai_, Urahara looked at the _Daireimon_.

Pieces of the gate were flaking off from the vibrations, tiles and bits of stone tinkling to the ground. Cracks began to appear in the support beams. The gate itself was shifting and flickering. The distant rumbling was getting louder, and it felt as though the earth itself was trying to move beneath their feet. As Urahara watched, the gate erupted with white light.

With a roar, the light impacted the edge of the dome. The layer of crimson energy was shattered, the radiance tearing through it like a giant fist. Urahara felt the heat and the power of the blast, and threw himself to the ground even as his _bankai _crumbled around him.

As quickly as it had begun, the surge of energy stopped. The _Daireimon_ came back into view, still mostly in one piece, but where there once had been a gate to the living world, now there was only a single massive distortion, a dark stain upon the borders of the worlds. Through the purplish haze, Urahara could see a flat plain strewn with smoke and rubble.

Yoruichi came to his side, staring backwards, where the burst of white light had torn a hole straight through what looked like half of the _Seireitei_, annihilating everything in its path. "What in blazes was that?" she asked.

Kisuke didn't turn to follow her gaze. Instead, he watched Darrus as he stood, looked around, and smiled. The hollow ignored the devastation, and even the vergence twisting at his back did not seem to interest him. He only had eyes for the clear silver sky, and savored the sight of the crescent moon.

Weary beyond words, Urahara sagged, leaning hard upon his _zanpakuto_. The last hints of his _bankai_ were bleeding between the tiles to disappear beneath them. "That," he replied, "was a problem. A very big problem."

**…**

In the process of living for more than a millennium, Shunsui Kyoraku had learned a few things. Some of them he had even bothered to remember. He knew that the best sake in Soul Society could be found at the Amber Lily. He knew where Ol' Yama kept his tea service, and that he had never locked it until Shunsui was in his fourth year at the Academy. Coincidentally, he knew how to pick a lock. He knew of five places where the sight of the sunrise could bring anyone to tears. He knew that good friends were the rarest commodity in existence. And he knew that there was nothing in the world more frightening than the anger of a gentle man.

As the last signs of the fury of Kijuro Ise's _bankai_ washed over him, he was also reminded of one other thing he had learned: there were few things more unpleasant than breathing in a mouthful of dirt.

Hacking and spitting to try and get the taste of grit out of his chest and off his tongue, Shunsui sat up amidst what had once been the living town of Esprit. Billowing clouds of dust tried to obscure it, but there was no hiding the ruin. Not a single building stood intact. There were barely even any walls left that still reached more than waist-high from the ground. Bales of thatch were caught on the edges of ruined timber, and piles of bare stone lay strewn about, scattered beyond the point of recognizing the houses they had once formed. Where there had been meandering streets of packed earth between blocks of buildings, now there was only a wide expanse of the pieces of what everything had been. The sight was almost uniform in its chaos.

"Juushiro?" Shunsui called, as soon as he felt himself capable of talking. "Are you alright?"

His fellow captain was coming into view just a few feet away. He waved one hand at Shunsui. The other held one of his _haori_'s long sleeves over his mouth, trying to keep the worst of the dust out of his lungs, but even so he was overcome with a fit of racking coughs.

"Don't try and talk in this air," Kyoraku scolded, moving to his side.

"Then _cough_ don't ask _cough _questions," Ukitake replied. He looked around as he tried to get his breathing under control, taking in the devastation.

The dust was clearing faster than it should have been. The reason for that was found in the countless vortexes that were forming, where the air itself was being drawn into the spiritual vergences connecting the living world and the afterlife. As the spirit particles and living matter converged, the sense of distressed _reiatsu_ was overwhelming. Kyoraku could barely even feel Ukitake, standing right next to him.

A dark shape off to their left caught Shunsui's eye. Half-stumbling towards it in the uneven rubble strewn over every inch of the ground, he found it to be Kijuro, slumped against an almost intact section of the low-lying wall he and Juushiro had taken cover behind. The elder captain groaned as Kyoraku knelt beside him, his face and grey-streaked hair both turned a mottled brown by dust and dirt.

"That was quite a show, Kijuro-_san_," Shunsui said. He helped the other man sit up.

"Getting… too old for this," Ise muttered.

"Aren't we all," Ukitake agreed. The white haired captain joined them. He was still holding a sleeve over his mouth and nose, but his coughing appeared to be under control for the moment.

Kijuro's _shihakusho_ was even more ragged than before, and his body was covered by cuts of all shapes and sizes from his self-inflicted brush with the ninetieth _hado_. The orbs of his _bankai _exhausted in the attack, Ise's _zanpakuto_ had returned to its normal unsealed state. The binding looked a little ragged, and the green inscriptions were dulled by dust, but Madoukishi still looked hale enough as he brushed off the cover. "It's been a long time since I ever did anything quite that stupid."

"Usually you leave the crazy plans to me. I'm feeling a little put off by this infringement, just so you know." To reinforce the point, Shunsui helped the other man to his feet.

"I can't let you have all the fun, lad."

"The fun's not over yet. We still have to do something about these disturbances."

Shunsui wished he knew why, but those words drew a dark cloud over his friend's face. Ise's jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

"You said you knew a way for us to close them?" Juushiro prompted, not without hesitation.

"No," said Kijuro. "I know a way that _I_ can close them."

"I don't like the sound of that, _sempai_," Kyoraku said softly.

"The worlds are being pulled together by the connections here at the nexus," Ise explained. "The only way to close them is to shift the _juureichi_. And the only way to do that is…" he trailed off. The dust had almost entirely cleared from the air. He was staring back towards what had been the town square.

Kyoraku sighed. Beneath the tumultuous mess that the _reiatsu_ of the spirit nexus was being twisted into, he felt something that he desperately hoped was his mind playing tricks on him. The look on Kijuro's face, however, told him everything he needed to know. "I really don't want to turn around right now, do I?"

"No, Shunsui. You really don't."

"Impossible," Ukitake breathed, disbelief written across his face.

Hunched and seething, covered in dirt and blood, the Vasto Lorde was very much alive. His body ravaged almost beyond recognition, Avaris did not make for a pretty sight. Standing amidst the remnants of his barriers, which looked like a knee-high pile of crushed rubies, he glared at the _shinigami_. His breath rattled out from a body that looked barely human. Both his arms were gone, one just above the elbow, the other at his shoulder. His chest was a black ruin, and half his torso was missing, the right side of his stomach little more than a ragged edge that looked as though it had been torn away by a wild animal. His face hosted a scorched pit of fury radiating from his one remaining eye.

Given the sheer scale of its wounds, it was hard to tell if the Vasto Lorde was regenerating. It lurched forward through the crystal shards, the action halting and ungainly. It did not say anything, which Kyoraku thought odd until he saw the dark seeping wetness of its throat.

"I was afraid of this," Ise said. "It was the distortions. Too much of the power of my attack was drawn into them."

"Well, there's one way to bring this to a close." Shunsui drew Katen Kyokotsu in a single fluid motion. "Juushiro." The other captain nodded, Sougyo no Kotowari already in his hands.

"Avaris!" a voice called out, before they could move. The hollow lurched to a stop, turning its head in an unsteady motion.

"The Quincy?" Shunsui muttered, spotting Rykker at the receiving end of the Vasto Lorde's glare. He stood off to their side, his brown robes stained and ragged. They were covered in blood as well, which was caked over half his face. "_Oi!_" Kyoraku shouted. "We'll take care of this, friend."

The Quincy did not so much as spare them a look. "I think you've done more than enough, _shinigami_," he shot back, voice thick with contempt. Shunsui suppressed a pang of annoyance, knowing how things must have looked. The hollow was still standing while the town was a shattered ruin, and the Quincy were a prickly bunch even in the best of times.

"Look, let us handle this," Kyoraku called. "What do you intend to accomplish risking your own life?"

"I will do what I should have done from the very beginning. What I was afraid to do, even as I let others risk their lives to protect this world." His hand went up to grasp the cross hanging on a leather strap around his throat. "I will end this myself." His hand tightened, and there was a sharp wooden snap.

"_NO!_" Kijuro shouted. But by then, it was already too late.

Even in the dissonant tumult that the nexus had become, the feeling of power the Quincy unleashed rang clear. The flow of dust and debris into the holes between the worlds began to slow. The distortions themselves seemed to shudder and hesitate, as if unsure how to react to this new development.

The Quincy within Soul Society's jurisdiction gifted veterans of their order with artifacts which enhanced their natural talents. Gloves designed to repel spirit particles, which were the source of the Quincy's power, forced them to strengthen their innate attraction to _reishii_. The collection abilities of those able to successfully maintain their powers against the _sanrei_ glove's influence were made so potent, removal of the impediment allowed them to exceed the spiritual power that a human body could naturally channel. Doing so would scar the Quincy's soul, preventing them from drawing on spiritual energy, but for a short time they would know power that no living soul was meant to bear.

Kyoraku had never seen it happen, but there was no mistaking what he saw. The Quincy was attracting every scrap of spiritual energy within his grasp, overcoming even the draw of the vergences. Where moments before the living world had tried to flow through them into the afterlife, now the exact opposite was taking place.

When he realized what that meant, Shunsui was sure his heart stopped.

"The fool," Kijuro groaned. "The proud, stupid fool."

The surge of spiritual energy began to coalesce at the Quincy's back, a blazing quiver of pure _reishii_, ready to feed his lethal powers. More and more power was being pulled back through the tears in reality, an unnatural force acting through an even more unnatural rift.

The Quincy did not seem to notice. All his attention was on the Vasto Lorde. Gathering the tiniest fraction of the enormous power at his back, he drew out an arrow and notched it to the string of his crimson-striped bow. "Even the greatest warriors of the Soulguard have fallen to your claws, fiend," he spat at Avaris. "But you have come to your end now, and it will happen at the hands of a Quincy."

Avaris did not move, apart from the rattling shudders of his body whenever he drew in a breath. His lone eye was fixed on Rykker, filled with indescribable hate. Rykker drew back, fixing his aim firmly on the hollow. "Revenge for our fallen. And justice for the living." With a shrill hiss, the arrow took flight.

It cut through the air with a trail of white light, but at once something seemed wrong. The shaft's trajectory wavered, jumping at random, before veering wildly off course. It missed the hollow by several feet, plunging into one of the distortions behind it.

"What?" Rykker gasped. His gaze was drawn over his shoulder, his expression shifting from anger to fear as he watched his gathered energy start to disintegrate. Even as new shreds of _reiatsu_ were being drawn in, more were being torn away, back into the rifts.

"No!" the Quincy exclaimed, trying to grab at the energy with his bare hands. His eyes widened in panic when pieces of his uniform began to pull apart. "What's happening?"

The conflicting pressures of the living matter, still trying to fight its way into the world of the dead, against the draw of the Quincy's Final Form, were tearing both worlds apart. The distortions nearby rippled and surged, their edges dancing outwards, like the center of a parchment caught aflame. The _shinigami_ could only watch helplessly as new vergences formed, almost inside of Rykker himself, as his body fought to accumulate the spirit particles against the opposing pull of the rifts. His screams filled the air of what once had been a living town, but nature had no favors left for its defenders.

With how rapidly the rifts were expanding, it was over mercifully quick, but now the damage was done. Without the Quincy's draw to fight it, the flow into the rifts accelerated, stronger than ever. Brief as it had been, Rykker's futile gambit had only further damaged what remained of the barriers between the worlds. There were now more distortions than stable space, and the holes were tearing themselves wider at a pace that was consuming the town before their eyes. Several of the rents were plunging into the ground, digging up dirt and drawing it through. Their ravenous maws had grown so wide that the _shinigami_ could clearly see the destructive effects the living particles had when they reached the afterlife. Even the smallest rocks detonated with astounding force, their explosions tearing apart the spirit particles on the other side.

Avaris was trying to laugh at the sight before him, but the only sound he could manage was a sickly, choking rattle.

"_Bakudo 61: Rikujokorou_."

The Vasto Lorde's morbid glee was cut short by the six planes of golden light that slammed into place around its torso. Avaris' head, the only part of his body unrestrained by the binding, twisted towards Kijuro, and he bared his teeth at the captain in a silent snarl.

"Enough," Kijuro growled. "Hollows. Soulguard. _Shinigami_. Quincy. It doesn't matter anymore. The world itself has suffered enough. This has to end."

Shunsui was raising Katen Kyokotsu, and his feet were already stepping towards the hollow, when his friend and mentor's voice stopped him with a word. "No," Kijuro said, his voice steel, his eyes adamant behind those familiar spectacles.

"Kijuro—"

"Captain Kyoraku, Captain Ukitake, I am ordering you to stand down. There is only one way to seal these ruptures, stop the merging of the worlds, and deal with this Vasto Lorde all at once. I am the only one capable of carrying it out. And you had best start putting distance between yourselves and this place right now if you intend to survive it."


	13. Chapter Thirteen: Balance

**Chapter Thirteen**

**Balance**

Existence itself was disintegrating around them, the worlds of the living and dead drawn together in a destructive convergence. Earth and air alike were being thrown about from the conflicting draws of hundreds of holes in reality, each of them a window to a point in the world beyond. With the appearances of the worlds being so similar, it was easy to forget just how different they were. But without the control of the structured magic that allowed the conversion of physical and spiritual matter, each vortex was a picture of chaos and destruction. Clumps of grass from the living world were laying waste to entire plains, and the rocks ripped up from the ground of Esprit were eroding the faces of mountains. Soul Society or Avalon, the Holy Land or Shambhala, the distinctions didn't matter now. The spirit nexus connected each of them, and would soon destroy them all.

Three captains of Soul Society stood in the heart of the storm. For all their tremendous power, for all their centuries of experience, here and now they faced their most implacable foe: nature, and the aberrant interaction it was now forced to endure.

"Whatever you're planning, Kijuro-_kun_, you'd best do it now," Shunsui said. He cast a wary look around at the distortions, which were fast overwhelming the stable spaces between them.

"We're with you," Ukitake added, putting himself between his superior and the _kido-_bound Vasto Lorde. "We'll give you whatever time you need."

Kijuro Ise strode forward with purpose, and placed a firm hand on the white-haired captain's shoulder. "The only time we have to spare is for the two of you to get as far away as possible. This isn't a situation that calls for foolish heroics."

"Who said we're trying to be heroic?" Kyoraku quipped.

"This isn't a joke, Shunsui."

"Good." Crumpled and dirt-covered, his straw hat was looking decidedly worn. The two halves of the chin string were dancing in the wind, but beneath the brim Kyoraku's eyes were calm. "Because you know me, I never joke at inappropriate times. At least not too much. Do what you have to, Kijuro."

"Damn your stubborn hides," Ise growled. "The Vasto Lorde isn't the problem here." Avaris, still bound by the six bars of light about his waist, seemed indifferent to that assessment. He also appeared content to watch the captains argue for the moment, his body regenerating but slowly from the massive wounds inflicted by Kijuro's _bankai_. "The Quincy eroded what little was left separating the worlds with his final form, and to purify a hollow of this much power here and now would be catastrophic."

"What, then?" asked Juushiro. "Do we move him outside the _juureichi_?"

"It may not be our biggest problem, but don't think for an instant the hollow is beaten. I don't think he'd go willingly."

"Damnit, Kijuro. Just what are you planning that you have to keep trying to chase us away like this?" Shunsui wondered. "A forbidden technique? If you're worried about us reporting you to the Central Forty-Six, you've got another thing coming. I'll eat my _haori_ before I let them punish you for saving the whole goddamn world!"

"Forbidden?" For an instant, Ise looked amused. "Lad, remember who you're talking to. Who do you think decided which techniques were forbidden in the first place?"

Juushiro gave his friend a wry look. "He has a point."

The elder captain shook his head, chuckling to himself. "What is there to forbid, anyway? After all, no one has ever cast the 100th _bakudo_ before."

Kyoraku blinked. "Come again?"

"Don't worry, Shunsui. This was one lesson in class that you didn't sleep through. Even my fellow masters believed that any _kido_ constructed beyond the ninety-ninth would be more unwieldy than they were worth. No one has ever cast the spell I mean to use. Not even me."

Ukitake looked understandably confused. "Why are you so worried about us surviving the spell, then?"

"Because I know I won't."

A moment of stunned silence passed. "I don't like this plan," Kyoraku mumbled.

"Look around you, Shunsui. The point of greatest concentration of spiritual energy in the living world is supporting a scale that is no longer in balance," Kijuro said, gesturing at the vanishing pockets of undisrupted reality. "Right now, in this place, the energies of life and death are corrupted and twisted, forcing themselves together in a way they were not meant to. The only way to stop it is to shift the _juureichi_."

"Captain Ise, if you've never cast this spell before, how do you even know it will work?"

"The same way we knew how to construct and harness every spell you learned at the Academy. I may not have said the words, but I know what the structure of a spell will produce. And I know what it will cost." The lines around the bespectacled man's eyes grew tight, and he found himself looking everywhere but at his fellow captains. "This spell is the only one of its kind… a sacrificial _bakudo_."

Ise saw Ukitake's shocked stare, and even Shunsui looked a little pale. While several _kido_ were forbidden due to the nature of their effects, only a few were outlawed because of their sacrificial cost. And to their knowledge, all of those were _hado_, spells which consumed a _shinigami_'s own vital energy, even parts of the caster's body, to produce results of unspeakable destructive power. But none of those were fatal, at least when executed by a capable _kido_ practitioner. A binding spell that could lethally harness a captain's body as a catalyst was more than a little disquieting.

"How will killing yourself with some untested _kido _accomplish anything?" Kyoraku demanded.

"We don't have a choice. My _bankai_ wasn't able to destroy the Vasto Lorde outright, but this _kido_ is capable of containing it in a way no regeneration will cure."

"There has to be some other way."

"Perhaps. Between the three of us, we could defeat the hollow, maybe even seal the rifts long enough to buy some time. There's something else to consider, though. This is a battle, and not one that will end the crisis we face from the plague. We have no idea when that will end, and it could yet go on for years. The spell might kill me, Shunsui, but that's not the point." Kijuro raised his arm, and with deliberate care pulled back the ragged sleeve of his _shihakusho_. "I'm already dead."

Juushiro gasped. "By all the heavens…"

The arm, beneath all the dirt and grime and blood, was covered in mottled black marks.

"No…" Kyoraku had never sounded so devastated. They had seen countless bodies of dead humans bearing those exact marks for the last ten years, but to Shunsui they were the harbinger of even more painful memories. Those of his lieutenant lying feverish and struggling for breath, his body covered with those same deadly lesions before succumbing to the plague.

"Think, Shunsui. I can't return to Soul Society. Half the men of the divisions are already terrified to set foot outside the _Seireitei_. Only our example can keep their sense of duty strong enough to overcome a fear like that. Can you imagine what would happen if a captain of the _Gotei_ Thirteen were to waste away in their midst?"

"How?" was the only question Kyoraku could find the strength to ask.

"We should have seen it sooner. _I_ should have seen it. All the clues were there, ever since the beginning. The resemblance between these rifts and the plague symptoms is no coincidence. Nor is its ability to affect both humans and deceased souls. The plague isn't a living disease. It's spiritual."

"That's why you told us to keep our _reiatsu_ suppressed," Ukitake said. "Releasing so much spiritual pressure here made you vulnerable."

Ise confirmed the statement with a nod. "That is my theory. And if I'm right, what I must do now might just be the first step in curing this plague." He rolled his sleeve back down and turned to Kyoraku, his expression imploring. "Shunsui, please. The best way for you to help me now is to survive this."

They had all seen more than their share of death after centuries of service in the _Gotei _Thirteen. As officers, they had even borne the weight of ordering those under their command to fates uncertain on the field of battle, all in the name of the greater good. That did not make it any easier when the choice came to leaving a friend behind.

"If you can't do it for me, then do it for her," Kijuro said. He looked down to study Madoukishi. He felt the familiar weight. The ever-so-slight wear on the edges. The feel of the pages as he turned them, and the sound of a voice begging him to read just one more incantation before bedtime. With a distant look in his eyes, he tossed the book to Kyoraku.

Shunsui caught it on pure reflex, and looked at Ise, forlorn and desperate. The turmoil twisting across his bestubbled face rivaled the world-tearing distortions surrounding them in what was left of Esprit's square.

"The words of my final spell aren't written on those pages. Neither are any words that will ease a daughter's pain at the loss of a father who couldn't bear to wake her up before he left on one last mission." He sighed. "Sometimes, even old men like me don't know how to say goodbye properly."

"Kijuro…"

"It will be enough that you'll be there to look after her, and that she will have a world to grow up to protect. Now get out of here, both of you. The hollow isn't going to like what happens next." As if to emphasize the point, a sharp snap split the howl of the wind, and one of the bars around the hollow's waist developed a noticeable crack. The Vasto Lorde, sensing the impending danger, was starting to struggle against the bonds of the _kido_ that held him in place. The sound drew Ise's attention, and he didn't spare his fellow captains another glance.

"Come on, Shunsui," said Juushiro. His voice was thin and strained, though it was hard to tell beneath the roaring tumult as the foundation of a large building was ripped from the ground and into one of the consuming maws. Dodging the debris, he guided the pink-cloaked man by the arm. Before they could flash step away, Shunsui stopped him short. With a questioning look, Ukitake followed his gaze, and a hint of color caught his eye. Uncovered by the shifting wreckage, it was the edge of a cloak, once pure white but now stained with red.

Kyoraku crossed the space with three long strides, and pulled an unconscious Ilara out from beneath the pile of rubble. She groaned as he wrapped her arm over his shoulder. With a frantic look around, he tried to find some sign of other survivors, Sighris or the human who was there with them. It was no use. In the chaos caused by the distortions, there was no way to sense the Soulguard woman's _reiatsu_, if she was even still alive. That didn't keep him from trying.

"Shunsui, we have to go!" Ukitake said urgently. Another vortex began to take shape nearby, and their path out of the nexus was growing more perilous by the instant.

With one last look at the form of Kijuro Ise, standing tall and proud in the face of the Vasto Lorde and the deconstruction of the very world, the remnants of the spirit nexus faded into the blur of _shunpo_.

Kijuro smiled, and cleared his mind with a deep breath of relief. "Now, hollow, I think it's time for our game to end."

Avaris did not reply. His body was again beginning to resemble something living, the charred exterior of his flesh flaking away to reveal the pale skin beneath. His arms had begun to regenerate, and the faster he rebuilt his body, the faster he would be able to break the _kido_ that bound him. That was a chance Kijuro could not take.

"_Bakudo 81: Danku_," he called. The barrier of soft white light sprang up, but not between them. The hollow haltingly shifted its head, looking over its shoulder to the defensive spell placed at its back.

"_Bakudo 30: Shitotsu Sansen_." Kijuro traced a triangle of golden light into midair, and three beams of golden light shot out, pinning the Vasto Lorde's legs and arms against the splitting void.

Reaching up behind his head, luminous lavender shards coalesced within the captain's grip, forming a single long shaft which he hurled at the hollow. "_Bakudo 62: Hyapporankan_." The shaft split into dozens of smaller rods, which slammed into Avaris, pinning him even more firmly against the wall.

Ise paused, visibly gathering himself for another cast. His lips moved soundlessly for a moment, until he made a violent gesture towards the hollow, fists clenched and exertion plain on his face. "_Bakudo 75: Gochutekkan!_" Five massive metallic pillars sprang to life, but where the spell typically dropped them down to pin an opponent to the ground beneath their incredible weight, these appeared in a new configuration. Three appeared by Kijuro, one to either side and one in front of him, all standing at an angle. They immediately toppled over, bases digging deeply into the ground, their points planted directly on the Vasto Lorde's chest. The last two pillars appeared crosswise to the first, and landed directly atop them, grinding to a halt with a screech that drowned out the wind. Their added weight drove the first three hard against Avaris, enough that the hollow roared in pain, coughing up fresh blood that smeared across his chin and chest. He glared at Kijuro from behind the mass of spells that bound him, murder in his eyes.

Ise took three breaths, long and slow and deep. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, drawing lines through the dirt which covered his face. "That should keep you attentive. After all your troubles, I wouldn't want you to miss this."

Avaris' expression was still furious, but the long rolling croak that rattled from his throat had the unmistakable tenor of laughter. The Vasto Lorde spoke, its voice a raspy echo. "You're too late, _shinigami_. You can't stop what we've started. The Great Feast has already begun."

**…**

"If I'm not mistaken, right about now is when you tell me about your next brilliant idea."

Kisuke Urahara's urge to form a witty retort was trumped by his need to stay in one piece. Lunging aside to avoid a strike from Darrus' hollow aspect that would have split him in two, he landed with a rough thud. "Isn't it your turn to come up with a plan, Yoruichi-_san_?" he called, scrambling back to his feet just in time to avoid yet another blow.

Though the hollow's forms were still visible thanks to the persistence of Urahara's forty-second way of binding, both _shinigami_ were hard-pressed. The sheer strength of each facet was in play now more than ever, with Urahara exhausted by the failed use of his _bankai_, and Yoruichi frustrated by the constant shift of physical coherence which all but negated her advantage in speed.

Making matters worse, what not long ago had been the Great Spirit Gate connecting Soul Society and the living world was now a rapidly expanding hole in reality, through which a constant stream of living particles were making a destructive entrance. Most of the gateway square was a cratered ruin, and the rift was showing no signs of slowing as it began to consume the bordering streets of the _Seireitei_, flinging explosive debris in every direction that was capable of leveling even the sturdiest structures in the blink of an eye.

"My turn?" Yoruichi called, snapping off a dazzling sequence of punches and kicks that passed through her opponent as though he was no more than thin air. "I wouldn't want to break your momentum. After all, you've had so many good ideas today."

Urahara frowned, using the shrill whistle of a pair of Benihime's energy bursts to drown out the choice words that no sane man would let Yoruichi Shihouin hear him say. The red slashes passed through his opponent, taking another chunk out of the rapidly deteriorating landscape of Soul Society, but no more. "I wouldn't want you to feel left out. As the commanding officer of this operation, you should feel free to direct your loyal subordinates."

"Kisuke, I ought to direct that _zanpakuto_ of yours right up your snarky—" the last bit of her reply, as well as what felt like the last two weeks of his life, was lost in the explosion of stars when the hollow slipped a blow through his guard to send him sprawling into the wreckage of a tailor's shop. Dragging himself back to hands and knees and shrugging off the pile of brightly colored bolts of cloth he found himself buried under, Urahara was glad for the swaths of red fabric that helped hide just how many bloodstains he was leaving behind.

"As amusing as it is to hear the two of you bicker, I do have more pressing matters to attend to," Darrus called. The human form that he preferred to speak with was still milling about the square, though he was keeping his distance from the edge of the rupture as its edges reached further and further outwards into the surrounding streets.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?" Yoruichi snapped. More out of frustration than anything, she hurled a piece of broken tile at the hollow's gangly aspect, which caught the stone with ease and began tossing it from hand to hand.

"No, as a matter of fact. My hollow brethren associate with me as little as possible. They fear me more than even _shinigami_."

Though spots still littered his vision, something at the edge of Urahara's other senses gave a twinge. He spit out a mouthful of blood to hide the temptation to smile. "You almost sound proud of that," he said. "Your body-splitting trick is certainly unique, but fearsome?"

Darrus shook his head. "How typical. Rational beings fixate on concepts they don't understand, every bit as predictably as instinct drives animals to flee from a predator. You look at me and see a mystery, or perhaps you see a hollow. But I'm not a puzzle, _shinigami_. Nor am I a beast."

"What are you, then?"

"Evolution."

The hollow's forms had finally given the two _shinigami_ a reprieve from their attacks, and had withdrawn to one spot near the entrance of the gateway square. The _shinigami_ facet stood at attention near his human form, but the hollow aspect was pacing restlessly to one side.

"Well, that explains everything," Yoruichi groused. She looked even more agitated than the hollow form, twitching like a cat coiled to spring.

"Your indifference is unsurprising," Darrus said evenly. "_Shinigami_ and hollows have both existed as long as there has been life, and yet righteousness and disdain are etched into every fiber of your being. You live wrapped in the folds of your mission, your rules, your grand 'Soul Society,' like children huddled in a blanket. But for all your history, all your civilization, you have forgotten more than you know. You have forgotten what it is like to grow."

"We don't need to justify ourselves to you," Yoruichi growled. "Hollows prey on defenseless souls out of mindless hunger. I don't need to be a _shinigami_ to know that it's my duty to protect them, and to protect the cycle of life."

"You don't even know how misguided you are," replied Darrus. "Souls don't exist in a cycle. They exist in a balance… and the very definition of balance is to have two forces working in opposition."

"How convenient for you," the Shihouin princess spat. "My father always tells me not to act as though the universe revolves around me, but at least I don't redefine nature to give myself a more favorable place in it."

"Don't be so sure."

Yoruichi stared. "Kisuke, don't tell me you're actually listening to this lunatic."

"I'm sorry, Yoruichi-_san_. You know I have a weakness for philosophical debates."

"Since when?" she wondered, one eyebrow perched. "Just how hard did he hit you, anyway?"

"Your perspective is flawed," Darrus went on. "It's not your fault, but that doesn't change the fact that you're wrong."

"How can you be so sure?" Urahara wondered.

"Because I have always been here," Darrus replied, with no trace of hubris. He spoke with a matter-of-fact air, and if there was any emotion in his voice, Urahara would have pegged it as weariness. "I have observed the balance in action. I felt the insatiable need, and was driven to consume the souls of others. It was not a choice, only an instinct, one that persisted after I obtained reason as an adjuchas. And though I transcended that form and was finally able to control the hunger as a Vasto Lorde, it was still there."

That piqued Urahara's curiosity. What had begun as an effort to buy them some time was now providing him with some added benefits. "Well, that explains a few things. I knew an adjuchas couldn't possibly attain your level of strength. Their spiritual density would never support your _reiatsu_."

"You look at me like you would a specimen," said Darrus, a hint of amusement in his tone. "Not even thinking that you could learn more from me in a conversation than you would in a dissection. I have drifted upon the river of time, witnessed the rise and fall of empires. I knew the living world before there was civilization and Soul Society before there were _shinigami_. I knew Hueco Mundo when it was still verdant."

"Are you kidding?" Yoruichi laughed. "Hueco Mundo is a wasteland, and always has been."

Darrus sighed. "No. The hunger of a hollow is a wretched thing, but there was a time when we had more than just souls to sate it. In our famine, we stripped our world bare of every living thing, until all that was left were the spirit particles in the atmosphere. Dead sand and crystallized _reishii_ cover what once was lush and green, an afterlife every bit as beautiful as Soul Society."

"So how are you any different now? Your kind still mindlessly kills and eats everything you see."

"Evolution is never a civilized process. With Hueco Mundo a wasteland and hunting in the living world ever more dangerous as the _shinigami_ became organized, an already irrational species was cast into pure chaos. Even in that vast trackless desert, there were too many of us and too little space. From this came the menos. With no other source of food, some hollows turned cannibalistic, and so the first adjuchas were born."

"I take it you were the next step in the process," Urahara said. "Vasto Lorde, you called yourself."

"Highest of the great hollows. Though we still felt the hunger of our brethren, we were no longer enslaved by it. Our sentience and strength made us the nobility of the vast wastes. Rulers of a mindless horde in a dead world," he said bitterly. "This was our reward, as well as our curse. We have watched our kind persist upon scraps, surviving through means reason decries, even as we cannot help but sympathize." As he spoke, Darrus' hollow form was growing more and more agitated, as though expressing the frustration and resentment only hinted at in his voice.

Urahara was watching the Vasto Lorde intently as he talked. For beings with only the barest suggestion of shape, the facets were far more expressive than Darrus' human form. "You paint a sad picture," he offered, putting a small amount of compassion into his voice.

"Don't think that the _shinigami_ aren't a part of this story," Darrus countered. "We have watched you take up the mantle as defenders of souls, a cause executed against a foe that has no choice but to be what it is." The stoic shape of his _shinigami_ aspect shifted uncomfortably. "This I have observed longer than any other, and I know that it's a cause that has become every bit as senselessly instinctive as the hollows' need to feed."

"You think our mission to preserve life is mindless?" Yoruichi asked incredulously. "If we believed that, it'd be admitting that there was no difference between instinct and reason. But you said yourself that reason allowed you to master your hunger."

"Humans need to eat to survive. Souls with spiritual powers need to eat to survive. But even a man on the direst edge of starvation does not know the hunger that drives a hollow. It's not something that one can master. It can warp and twist a being's very nature. I no longer eat souls because I choose to, and because I have reached a point that does not demand I do so to survive. But even Vasto Lorde aren't all so pragmatic. Some enjoy the power. Some thrive on the thrill of the hunt. A few just enjoy the taste."

"Everything you say just proves my point," Yoruichi said. "You say you've evolved, but even those you've claimed to be reasonable are still animals."

"I simply make no excuses for my kind. Do me the same favor. I have seen _shinigami_ more cruel or bloodthirsty than some hollows. Neither side is as good or as bad as they believe the other to be. I know, because I have seen it throughout every stage of my existence. You say life is a cycle, Yoruichi Shihouin? The only cycle I see is that of death. One side killing for subsistence, the other for persistence. It has to end."

"So you're trying to destroy existence itself?" Urahara asked. "I have to say, you're nothing if not thorough. Of course, speaking as someone who has come up with more than a few questionable ideas… you're nuts."

Darrus' hollow form stopped pacing dead in its tracks, and the _shinigami _presence twitched towards its spectral sword. Both movements practically radiated fury, but the human visage only smiled a little at the insult. "So you say. Remember, though, that while this plane of existence may be destroyed in the collision with the living world, Hueco Mundo is not connected to the _juureichi_. Our world, and all the hollows there, will survive the cataclysm. All those souls in the living world, along with all the humans, will have nowhere to go. And the _shinigami _that survive will have nowhere to send them."

There was logic in the words that Urahara could not deny, and a sickening certainty in the Vasto Lorde's voice that forced doubt into his mind like a burrowing insect. It was not a common occurrence, but Kisuke Urahara simply did not know enough to call the hollow's bluff… if in fact it was.

"Kisuke was too charitable," Yoruichi said, and even her voice was tinged with unease. "You're not crazy, you're just a fiend."

"I don't disagree," Darrus said, as though responding to an observation on the quality of a piece of furniture. "But it's the only way to end the killing once and for all."

"End it?" Urahara wondered, cocking his head to one side. "What do you think all the hollows will do once the living world has been picked as bare as Hueco Mundo? What will they eat then?"

Darrus threw back his head and laughed. The sound rolled through the streets, rattling off the walls not yet toppled by the expanding rift. It was not a laugh of amusement, nor was it the cackle of a madman. It was a sound imbued with so many meanings that it somehow managed to convey no emotion at all. "Each other, perhaps, if it comes to that. Let me tell you a secret, _shinigami_," the Vasto Lorde said, once his laughter died away. "Hollows don't have a religion. We don't keep histories, nor do we pass down stories. Beasts filled only with hunger have little use for such things. What we do have is a belief in an end."

"An end?" Yoruichi said. "What do you mean, like an apocalypse?"

"Call it what you will. It is what every hollow dreams of seeing. An end to hunger, a banquet of souls so incomprehensibly vast that even the emptiness in our souls can be filled. What less than the death of every soul in existence could bring it about? It is called the Great Feast, and it is here." Arms raised to the heavens, and backed by the surging void that was fast obliterating the Court of Pure Souls, Darrus had become the very spectacle of despair.

"So even hollows have fantasies," a new voice cut in, sharp as a blade. The Vasto Lorde's celebration came to an awkward halt, all three of his forms twisting to and fro, scanning for the speaker's location.

Between Urahara and Yoruichi, light seemed to bend, the air between them twisting like a sheet rustled by a breeze. Out stepped a new _shinigami_, clad in a _shihakusho_ clean enough to have just come from the wash, every fold and crease impeccably precise. Atop a head of sculpted brown hair darkened by the twilight rested a three-piped _kenseikan_. "The Great Feast, you say?" Lieutenant Michiko Kuchiki remarked. Her tone, as casually conversational as a noble could affect, was accentuated by the barest whisper of sound as she drew her sword. "Even hollows should know better than to play with their food."

"Lieutenant Kuchiki," Urahara said, sweeping himself into a bow so outrageous even his ruined and bloodstained clothing couldn't diminish it. "Your use of _Kyokko_ was as flawless as ever. I trust you enjoyed our conversation."

"Not flawless enough, apparently. If anyone could see through an invisibility _kido_, I suppose it would be you… for which I am duly grateful. You always did know how to drag out a conversation, Urahara-_kun_."

"You flatter me, lieutenant. I am but a humble _shinigami_ of a few modest talents."

One thin, manicured eyebrow rose ever so slightly. "Modest, indeed. Your performance was splendid, all the same. The dialogue as well," she said pointedly. "One of these days I'll invite you to a family dinner, if only to see you turn Toyakuya into a babbling wreck."

"Tread lightly, Michiko," Yoruichi smirked. "And be careful what you wish for, especially with this one."

Through their exchange, none of the three _shinigami _had taken their eyes off of Darrus. The hollow had been surprised for a moment, but nowhere near taken off-guard. "Foolish," he said. "You were able to hide yourself so effectively, and yet you wasted your appearance without any kind of attack? To squander such an opportunity is a sign of unforgivable overconfidence."

Michiko's expression remained static. "For one so powerful, possessing a dominant advantage on a battlefield, it is a sign of unforgivable ignorance to not realize that you are already dead."

They moved with only the faintest glimmer as they caught the light of the moon. Brief flashes danced from every corner of the _Daireimon_ Square, sprinting phantoms gone faster than the eye could see. Yet still they darted at the edge of vision, tantalizing and intangible all at once. A breath of sound, like the brushing of a feather across the strings of a lute, accompanied each flicker of suggested light.

With the flat of the blade facing Darrus, Michiko held her _zanpakuto_ before her. With the flick of a wrist, she turned the blade edge-on.

The air grew cold, and began to fill with a faint, ominous hiss. Tendrils of fog began to waft from all around, until the light refracted by the mist revealed the countless strands that surrounded them. A diaphanous web, glittering silver-white, formed from thousands of fibers of pure ice no thicker than a hair.

The mark of a true Kuchiki, it was sometimes whispered, was the ability to never exhibit happiness of any kind. As nobles, superiority and disdain were the bread and water of emotions. Anger and a certain sarcastic wit each had their place, and approval was permitted in only the guise of grim satisfaction. Ginrei Kuchiki, the pinnacle of this example, was called the Old Stone… though never to his face. His grand-niece was chiseled from the same granite block. Though far from heartless, it was not in her nature to show joy, should the feeling ever happen to come upon her.

All this made Urahara think of many things at this moment. Perhaps he was suffering from a concussion, what with the several blows to the head he had taken in the battle. Possibly he was growing delirious from blood loss. Maybe it was just too dark to see straight. But he knew that there was no chance, not the remotest potential, that he had witnessed Michiko Kuchiki – even briefly, even a little bit – smile.

"_Kiru, Sorihyou_."


	14. Chapter Fourteen: Nexus

**Chapter Fourteen**

**Nexus**

Sir Caylen Dare lay face down in darkness with no idea where he was. The fog of unconsciousness was slow to lift, and the dull pressure that amplified the pounding of his head was not helping. For several confused moments he wondered if he was back in his tent in the camp of the English army. But the weight pressing down upon his shoulders was not the blanket of his bedroll, and the roar between his ears was not the one usually found at the bottom of too many skins of wine.

His first attempt to stand was met with failure, and he winced at the pain even that small effort bought him. The explosion of stars in the otherwise pitch blackness did jog his memory, at least. A warning shout, a panicked scramble, and a blinding white light that had sent him tumbling into something far less forgiving than his skull.

Resisting the urge to shake his head, he gritted his teeth and tried again to push himself upright. He felt the weight above him tremble and shift. The more he tried, the more it gave, until it fell away with a wooden creak and the abrasive whisper of crushed stone. On hands and knees, Caylen recoiled from the sudden light. That was when he heard the voice of a man, chanting over a howling wind.

"_Particles of compliance, halt and discern. That which forms the name of one, revert to the echo of origin_…"

Blinking to try and clear his vision, he staggered towards the sound, tripping with every awkward step on a path made uneven by the wreckage littered at his feet. Stumbling against the lonely post of a door frame, he felt it give against his weight, but it helped keep him upright long enough to recover his bearings.

That was a relative assessment. There was nothing left of Esprit that could be recognized as what it had been. The town was leveled, devastated to a scale beyond what any weapon in his knowledge could produce. Little and less was still standing higher than his waist, which made it all too easy to see everything else.

The air was packed with black, twisting vortexes, thick enough to blot out the sky even without the streams of dust and debris being sucked into them. Caylen felt as though he was being pulled in every direction. He shuddered with relief that he hadn't blundered right into one of them.

"_The hands of a titan raise a mountain. The breath of a pauper shapes a breeze. The tears of a king fill a sea. Each piece concedes to its whole_…"

Caylen made his way towards the voice, wending through the gaps between distortions. It was not easy to find a path in any one direction, and the dark marks were moving unpredictably. Some appeared to waft in place, more or less harmless, while others were ripping outwards, bleeding into one another to form even larger pockets of dead space. New ones were constantly forming in what little uncorrupted air was left.

The crunch of crumbled masonry marked each careful step, until another sound stopped him short. Though he was hesitant to take his eyes off of the ominous clouds that surrounded him, he risked a glance down, where the glint of steel caught his eye. Kneeling, he brushed away a layer of dirt to uncover what turned out to be Sighris' sword, its golden hilt and diamond-winged crossguard still remarkably pristine.

Struck by a sudden wrongness, he grasped for his own weapon only to find that somewhere in all the chaos his scabbard and arms had been torn from his belt. Only ragged edges of leather straps remained. His head pounded even harder with self-reproach at how he had missed the familiar weight on his hip for even this long. Caylen reached for the weapon before him with hesitation, shuddering as his hand wrapped around the grip. He felt the same disquieting warmth and eerie pulse from the first time he had touched it, but it was better than going unarmed. He had no illusions about his ability to stand against the kinds of creatures he had encountered today, even with a Soulguard blade, but it was better than nothing.

"_Hearken, fire and blood. Words of the element carry to the ears of that which does not hear_..."

Edging around one particularly large distortion, through which Caylen would swear he could see the rolling waves of an ocean, the speaker finally came into view. It was the _shinigami_ who had fought Avaris. He was standing with hands clasped, as though his words were some kind of prayer. His expression was intense and focused, and the eyes behind his spectacles were locked unblinking on a single point.

"_Shards of all things gather in silence. Obedient in motion, firm in alignment_..."

The knight did not have to search very hard to find what the old man was staring at. It was Avaris, pinned against a wall of light by an assortment of objects that would have left Caylen dumbfounded on any other day. Flat golden bars, glowing purple spears, and massive metallic pillars, the collection seemed to be working together to serve as some kind of restraint.

At the sight of the Vasto Lorde, Caylen's fist clenched around the sword in his hand. He felt the pulse quicken, and a sudden urge to charge forward almost overcame him. He stared at the weapon in disbelief, incredulous at the thought that the sword itself wanted to strike at Avaris.

"_Eight corners, six faces. Fourteen and thirty. Angles and facets multiply, and become a sphere_…"

As the prayer continued, something was changing in the air. The dull, pervasive pressure seemed to be shifting. Caylen felt as though he was underwater, his feet planted on the floor of the shallows as waves flowed around his body. Dizziness accompanied the simple effort of standing up straight.

The appearance of a new distortion made him push his disorientation aside. It appeared just a short distance in front of Avaris, twisting itself from nothingness and erupting into a new purple-black vortex. It ripped outwards, bands of corrupted wind reaching out to cut straight through the grey pillars beneath. Their weight meant nothing to the forces that acted upon them. The metal screamed as it buckled, bending up and into the fissure. All five columns groaned in futile protest as they were pulled away into oblivion.

Avaris seemed to sag forward as the load was pulled from his chest. The hollow smiled, his empty white eyes wide above a grin of manic glee. The purple stakes around his body, along with the three glowing triangles holding his arms and legs, began to shudder in place as the distortion's draw took hold. In ones and twos they began to pull free, disappearing into the whirling blackness.

"_Sphere of earth, sphere of sun, sphere of cosmos beyond_…" A note of urgency was now clear in the _shinigami_'s speech. Whatever he was doing, the loss of the restraints was costing him precious time to accomplish it.

With the ring of breaking glass, one of the six flat bars of light around the hollow's waist shattered, the pieces flung away like leaves in a gale. The stumps of his arms still dangling limp at his sides, the Vasto Lorde moved his right leg. The hollow dug his heel into the ground and dragged himself forward. His whole body shook, and cracks began to form on the five remaining bars. Only his right leg moved freely, but with every awkward motion Avaris began to close the gap between the _shinigami_ inch by inch.

Caylen watched, his own body trembling with uncertainty. The sword in his hand throbbed. He could all but hear a voice in his head, begging him to step forward.

Not knowing what else to do, he did.

* * *

For a moment, Darrus watched in stunned silence as the net of frozen threads collapsed around him. Then his forms took action, leaping outwards trying to escape the trap, only to be ensnared as surely as insects by a spider's web. They tried to cut their way through, which just made them even more entangled. The gaps in the web grew smaller as it tightened, and all three of the hollow's aspects were soon pressed against one another at the center of the snare. The strands of the net went taught against his bodies, and the Vasto Lorde roared in pain as the ice bit into his skin.

Michiko held her sword pointed at their foe, expression tight with concentration. "I borrowed your little trick, Urahara-_kun_. Bindingforty-two is woven into my _shikai_, but this net still won't hold him for long."

"Hold him?" Kisuke said blankly.

The brown-haired noble's gaze snapped around. "Yes, hold him. I'm buying you enough time to think of something to finish him off."

"I thought _we_ were buying time for _you_ to kill him!"

Her glare was enough to make him take a nervous swallow. "Really. For an encore, were you expecting me to put out Yamamoto's _shikai_ by spitting on him?"

"Of course not. I'd never expect a noblewoman to spit."

Yoruichi added her scowl to his list of troubles. "I don't think you want to be digging yourself any deeper right now, Kisuke."

"So what do we do now?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" he wailed.

"You're the genius. Get used to it."

Urahara ran a hand through his sweat-matted hair, his mind working frantically for inspiration. He scanned the _Daireimon_ Square for something, anything they could use… "Oh." He blinked. "That might work." Looming in his gaze, directly behind the ensnared Vasto Lorde, was the massive planar vergence ripping outwards into the _Seireitei_. The beginnings of a smile tugged at his mouth.

Michiko gave Yoruichi a worried expression. "Have you ever told him how scary he looks when he gets an idea?" she whispered.

"I'm pretty sure he knows."

Urahara drew himself up to his full height, suddenly invigorated. "I have a plan," he declared.

"Why doesn't that make me feel better?" Michiko muttered.

Yoruichi smirked. "You're learning fast."

"Lieutenant Kuchiki, if you can keep all three of his forms contained, Lieutenant Shihouin and I will push him into the vergence. If we can get him through the event horizon, the turbulence within the breach should be enough to destroy him."

"That's your plan?" Yoruichi asked. She sounded awestruck, but not in a way Urahara was keen to take credit for. "You want to play tug-of-war with a hollow that could push back a _bankai_ with pure spiritual pressure?"

"I didn't say I had a _good_ plan," he protested weakly.

The sharp snap of breaking ice came from the net binding the Vasto Lorde. Michiko gritted her teeth and refocused on her _shikai_, which was just barely containing the hollow as it struggled to free itself. "Whatever you're planning, good or bad, do it quickly!"

"All right, Kisuke. Just don't tell me you want us to literally push that thing up to the vergence."

"Not exactly," Urahara assured her, with a customary not-quite-insincere wave of his hand. "Actually, I thought that flashy new trick you've been working on would be perfect for the job."

She gaped at him. "No. Even you can't be that crazy."

"What? If you're worried about what happened in the training cavern, don't be. I have every confidence that you've been able to work out the kinks since then."

"_Kinks?_" Yoruichi howled. "The first time I tried to use a focused burst, you almost lost an arm!"

He waved his left hand at her, wiggling his fingers. "It was nothing Fourth Division couldn't patch up. Besides, that kind of precisely-directed kinetic energy is just what we need."

"_You were standing behind me!_"

He frowned a little. "Oh. Right." The frown disappeared, and he gave her a wide, reassuring smile. It was rather too wide to actually be reassuring. "I have every confidence in you!"

"You already said that!"

"Does that make it any less true? Don't worry, you won't have to do this alone. I'll be right beside you, helping out. Well, maybe not _right_ beside you."

"Kisuke…" she growled.

Urahara held up his hands defensively. "I know, I know. You'll kill me later." In the span of a heartbeat, all traces of playfulness and sarcasm dropped away from his face. He stared at Yoruichi for a long moment, his gaze intense. "One burst. Can you do it?"

The look she returned him was every bit as resolute, but Kisuke saw the flicker of unease deep within her golden eyes. To some, there was a vast difference between having confidence in one's success and possessing a fear of failure. In Urahara's opinion though, they were the exact same thing, differentiated only by the skill of the façade placed on top. He had lost count of the people they had encountered who pegged he and Yoruichi as the haughty noble and the amiable fool, only to be shocked by his breezy confidence and her bouts of solemn contemplation.

His guise had come naturally to a born peasant brought into a world of the feudal elite, who expected and were thus easily disarmed by such antics. To Urahara though, the undercurrent of hesitation that threaded through everything Yoruichi had done since he'd known her had proven a far more interesting study. She buried it behind walls of free-spirited humor and noble demeanor alike, but neither served to fully hide the doubts she fought against. Living each and every day under the weight of a tremendous legacy and even greater expectations, most of which were goals she had set for herself to exceed, still she persevered in ways he could only hope to emulate. In the bargain, the fact that he was often seen as the supremely confident one almost made him laugh. All it meant was that his cares were a great deal easier to hide, even if that was somewhat by his own design. It only made him love all the more the touch of humanity that shone through every time she overcame her doubts.

"Yes," she replied at last. "But even my best shot might not be enough. You saw what he's capable of."

He nodded. "Leave that to me."

He knew she didn't need to hear his reassurances. Yoruichi accepted what he was asking for, and would do her best to accomplish that without worrying about the 'what else.' Such was the bond they had built up through years of partnership, and the focus she embodied when faced with what seemed like impossible odds. He watched her steady herself with a deep breath and stride forward to stand between Darrus and her fellow _shinigami_.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Michiko said through gritted teeth. She was using her _shikai_ to materialize more frozen threads to bind the Vasto Lorde, but Darrus was starting to break them faster than they could be summoned. "There's no way this is going to be as easy as you think."

"I'm trusting her," he replied. "And for me, that's easier than breathing."

It was all that needed to be said. He relaxed his body, gathering strength for the next play. His mind was a furious buzz of calculations and preparations for his part in their gambit. The timing would have to be absolutely perfect. Even so, he spared a small piece of his concentration to watch the show.

The wind coming from the vergence was fierce, a force backed by the entire living world trying to push itself into Soul Society through the breach. It whipped across Yoruichi's face, her purple hair waving madly. She raised her right arm, holding it straight out from her body, and sparks of pale energy began to gather. The wind was thrown into confusion, lashing off in random directions as a new power rose to meet it. The flickers that began around Yoruichi's arm began to take shape across all her limbs. The sound of thunder crashed into them as the _kido_ coalesced at her back, ripping the fabric of her outer uniform to small shreds. Her whole body jerked. She lowered her arm, and a few wild currents of white energy shot out in random directions, scoring the tiles around her feet. Urahara saw her face harden in concentration, and the haphazard strikes subsided.

"_Shunko_," she growled. Even the distraction of that single word was marked by a stray burst that blew the top floor off a tower a few blocks away. She raised her left hand, energy arcing between her arm and the ground, and held it palm-out towards Darrus, fingers curled.

Urahara both saw and felt her gather the compressed _kido_ that she would use for a physical strike that even the Vasto Lorde would feel, and held Benihime at the ready. He didn't bother moving away, even though he stood in almost the exact same position that had nearly cost him a limb in one of Yoruichi's early trials of her hybrid _hakuda_/_kido_ technique. Standing ready, muscles tensed, he gave himself over to instinct… and trust.

"Kisuke." The sound of Yoruichi's voice nearly set him in motion. He held himself to a flinch, and willed his heart to start beating again as he looked at her in bewilderment. Her eyes were narrowed in confusion, upraised towards the vergence at the hollow's back. "Something's happening."

* * *

The only reason that Caylen could come up with for why his legs were moving was that he had at last gone truly mad. He was striding towards a beast of incomprehensible power, to buy time for a black-clad man who called himself a god of death to complete a prayer that may or may not be intended to destroy said beast… all on the perceived suggestion of a sword that belonged to a warrior-woman of the afterlife.

There was a point where even those who saw things that most would describe as fantastic went beyond what they could comprehend, and were forced to rely on instinct. Caylen felt as though he had passed that point quite some time ago. And here he was, moving forward, further into a world that grew stranger with every stride.

"_Conform to the shape of eternity_…" There was a noticeable hitch in the old man's voice when Caylen came between him and Avaris. "…_and withdraw into an instant_…"

The hollow paused as well, stopping his one-legged advance. Two pale, pupil-less eyes, bright in the deepening gloom of twilight, blinked in surprise.

Caylen didn't say anything. No grand proclamations, no heady boasts. No threats, no warnings, no words. He merely stood in the middle of the _shinigami_ and the hollow. Sighris' sword held before him at the ready. Every ounce of his concentration was devoted to the effort of keeping his expression blank… and his knees from shaking.

The rising currents that he had felt since the old man began his prayer were more intense than ever. But just as that pressure grew, the draw that he had felt from the distortions – the sensation of being pulled in every direction at once – was starting to fade. It was as though the two forces were canceling each other out.

"_Contour of fascination, pass across the circle. Rings of the absolute, combine and descend…_"

The crackling purple glow along the edges of the distortion stood out in the darkness. On the fringe of Caylen's vision, movement behind the Vasto Lorde caught his attention. The borders of the spiraling rift, which had been reaching steadily outwards, were now coming to a hesitant stop. All around them, the plumes of dirt and rubble that had been flowing into the fissures had settled back to earth, and the roaring wind that had been dredging up those clouds of dust was abated to little more than a breeze. An eerie silence was coming over on the ruins of Esprit.

The forces acting on the rifts seemed to reach equilibrium, and Caylen felt the tide shift. Slowly at first, with the barest whisper of movement, air began to flow back out of the fissures. But even as the current intensified, it didn't seem to possess the same violence as before. As he watched, the flickering outlines of the rifts began to inch inwards. Instead of forcing them further open, the new flow actually seemed to be pulling the fissures closed.

"No!" Avaris growled, renewing his one-legged lurch. "We've waited too long. I won't let you stop it!" Caylen found himself backing away, even though the Vasto Lorde no longer seemed to be paying him any mind. Struggling against the spell that bound his limbs with every movement, the golden bars around the hollow's waist were spiderwebbed with cracks. From the stumps of his pale arms, new limbs began to regenerate, rippled flesh twitching back into the shapes of wrists and hands.

All the while, the _shinigami_ continued his chanting, words building to a crescendo. "_Mechanisms of heavenly vein, grind away the shell of reality. Avert the eyes that see consequence, and reveal that which bows to beyond_…"

Still giving ground before the hollow, Caylen risked a glance over his shoulder. The old man never interrupted his ritual, but his eyes were filled with urgency, tracking back and forth between Caylen and the advancing hollow. When he saw the young knight looking at him, the appeal in his expression was as clear as any words could be.

"_Fragments of creation, accept this course of symmetry…_"

Just beyond arm's reach from Kijuro, Caylen willed his legs to stop. Lifting the sword with both hands, he held it at the ready, daring the hollow to keep moving.

Still Avaris ignored him. So close to his target, the killing blow was tantalizingly within reach. Mere feet away from putting an end to their last chance to stop him, the hollow did not even hesitate in his halting strides. The binding shapes at his midsection were crumbling away, and Avaris bared his teeth in a feral snarl.

"_Particles of compliance, compress and realign!_"

His head was pounding from mere proximity to the hollow, blood roaring in his ears. Something about the old man's voice spurred Caylen into action, and with a wordless cry, he charged. He swung his spectral weapon with all his might, bringing it down with a force of desperate fury that no living armor could hope to stop. The edge of the blade descended on the hollow right where the knight aimed, striking Avaris between his neck and shoulder as a ringing crash filled the air.

The sound faded from Caylen's ears, echoing away. The breath of the wind hushed, along with the pounding of his pulse. The sword he had swung with all his might was rested against the hollow's skin, which wasn't even scratched. Caylen felt cold. Throat hitching, his mouth agape, the knight looked down, and saw the clawed fist buried in his chest.

The last fragments of the golden bars were crumbling away in silence. Avaris leaned forward, and the hot breath against his cheek was the only thing Caylen seemed to feel. "Human." The hollow spat the word like a curse, and Caylen was thrown to the ground. He couldn't make his eyes focus. His jaw worked open and shut as he tried to pull in a breath, but his body would not obey. His blood was still, no longer moved by the hole where once his heart had been.

Distracted for the merest moment by the kill, Avaris snapped his head back to Kijuro. The distance between them was no more than a few feet. With a growl, he raised a clawed fist to stab at the _shinigami_. The hollow lunged, but the captain twisted around the blow, catching the wild thrust in the crook of his left arm. His right hand locked around the Vasto Lorde's throat. Kijuro Ise looked straight into the furious eyes of the devil, repaying the expression in kind. "_Bakudo 100: Reitei Hougyoku Gakai._"

* * *

Kyoraku and Ukitake flash stepped straight from within Esprit onto the hill overlooking the town, and they arrived amidst chaos. No sooner had he stopped moving than Shunsui found himself being jostled by a swarm of screaming souls that couldn't figure out which way to run. Half of them seemed to be fleeing up the hill and away from the town, and the rest were pushing in the opposite direction.

They did not have to search hard to find the reason. Charging towards them at the heels of the mob, screaming and snarling in mindless hunger, was a pack of hollows that had broken through the Soulguard lines. Several hundred beasts of all shapes and sizes stampeded towards the helpless souls. A handful of white-cloaked warriors were trying to harry the swarm, but there were too few of them and too many hollows. Even worse, Shunsui saw more than a few of the fleeing spirits were wearing the same white cloaks.

"Poor fools," Ilara breathed. If he hadn't been holding the woman up by the arm slung over his shoulder, Kyoraku doubted he could have even heard her over the commotion.

"Ah, good. If you're awake, young lady, I'm hoping you can stand."

"If being trampled by my own men is the alternative, I'll stand well enough."

"Good," he replied. The word was drowned out by the scream of a hollow as it all but fell towards them in hunger, drawn by the sense of the two captains' spiritual pressure. In a twisting swirl of his flowered drape, Kyoraku pirouetted out from his hold on the lady knight, while at the same time tearing through the hollow in the fluid motion of drawing his _katana_ with his left hand. He glared at the beast's dissipating form, eyes aberrantly dark beneath the brim of his straw hat. "I'm tired of sitting in the gallery."

"Shunsui," Ukitake said, sensing his friend's mood. "If we're too close to the spirit nexus…"

"If we let them get any closer," he countered, jerking his head towards the closing throng, "it won't matter anyway."

Juushiro's eyes were still filled with concern, not all of it brought on by the potential damage they could still inflict on the borders of reality, but he nodded.

Kyoraku turned, brandishing his weapons in a flourish that cleared a space in the press of fleeing souls. "_Flower wind rage, flower god roar. Wind of heaven rage, god of the underworld sneer__. Katen Kyokotsu_." He made little effort to conceal the frustration boiling inside him as he leapt straight into the teeth of the charging horde, scimitars glittering in the twilight.

A frown passed over Ukitake's face as he drew his own _zanpakuto_. As he took the hilt of the weapon in both hands and lowered it to his side, the worry and concern melted away, leaving only tranquil purpose. "_Waves rise and become my shield. Lightning, strike and become my blade. __Sougyo no Kotowari_." Twin blades in hand, the red tassel connecting their hilts trailing behind, he charged into the fray after his friend.

Kyoraku was dimly aware of a ragged cheer rising from the Soulguard, the sound almost lost in the tumult of the fleeing souls. But even if the surge of _reiatsu_ and the sight of the two _shinigami_ captains joining the fight was enough to rally the soldiers of Avalon, the only way to regain control of the panicked mob was to remove the threat driving them. Whatever it took, they had to keep those souls out of the city until Kijuro could complete his spell.

Shunsui could scarcely feel his own body as he cut through the hollows. He was moving with a cold efficiency, and he found that he welcomed the detachment. The exercise of defeating anything beneath a menos was less than even reflex at his level, but the mindlessness of it helped him push back the thought of what he had just left behind. Kyoraku was not a man to find catharsis in violence, but the familiarity of battle was still a welcome outlet to the sense of helplessness he had felt back inside the town.

He didn't know how long he fought. It might have been hours, or it might have been seconds. But all too soon, there were no more enemies in sight. The Soulguard were putting both themselves and the crowd back in order. He drifted to the ground, eyes shut, jaw clenched. There was nothing left to do but look.

As soon as he turned and opened his eyes to witness the fruit of his friend's final stand, Shunsui's breath was locked in his chest. His eyes began to water, but he couldn't bring himself to blink. He felt more than saw Ukitake come up beside him, and he heard his friend whisper a single word: "Incredible."

The gloom was not yet deep enough to reveal the celestial tapestry, but in the sky all around them, a million new stars were being born. They stretched across the horizon from edge to edge, blue-white sparks coming to life in such suffusion that the fall of night was yielding to their brightness. Drifting inwards as their numbers grew, they collided and combined, forming the outline of a dome above their heads.

With a start, Shunsui turned away from the sky to look behind them. His eyes grew wide, and the blue-white light was reflected within them. "Juushiro, we have to move!"

"What?" his friend muttered, tearing himself away from the sight, half-dazed.

"We're still inside the spell!"

"Oh, no," Ukitake breathed when he saw the wall of light taking shape behind them.

"We have to get these people out of here," Kyoraku barked. As fast as he could, he flew to every Soulguard spirit he could find, ordering them to move the souls away from the town as fast as they could. He didn't even bother waiting for acknowledgement before moving on from one to the next. He found Ilara last, and the young woman seemed to have already noticed their dilemma. Though barely able to stand, she shouted and waved, trying to get everyone moving in one direction.

It was a doomed endeavor. The mob was still not in hand from their back-and-forth flight from the city and the hollow hunting party. Trying to herd them towards a rapidly solidifying wall of light was hopeless. Already some of the souls were fleeing back towards the town.

With a growl of frustration, Kyoraku resealed his _zanpakuto_ and jammed both halves back into their scabbards with no regard to proper form. Blocking out the scolding from Ol' Yama such carelessness brought to mind, he grabbed the two nearest souls, one under each arm, and flash stepped.

Moving through the edge of the coalescing _bakudo_ felt like a dive into a frozen lake. Ignoring the sensation, he dumped his two passengers on the ground. They hadn't even had time to notice that they'd been picked up before he was gone again. He repeated the process as fast as his _shunpo_ could carry him. Ukitake caught on almost at once, and soon the Soulguard knights were following suit, at least the ones with enough spiritual power to flash step. Some of the white-cloaked souls without that talent were finding some resistance when they tried to bodily carry others away, but Kyoraku didn't have time to spare for amusement at the sight.

Within a minute he had made almost fifty trips, and the world was starting to spin. Kyoraku felt himself tiring far more quickly than a few dozen flash steps should cause, and every time he passed through the barrier it was like the very life was being pulled out of him. As the wall of light took shape, the pain was getting worse. The edge of the _bakudo_ was getting harder to pass through, and many of the souls he was dropping off outside it had started to lose consciousness from the strain. He forced himself to keep moving, to not let up. The sick feeling in his gut said that nothing still inside that spell once it was fully formed would be coming out again. Not even him.

Some of the Soulguard were collapsing outside the dome, unable to keep up the effort. Even Ukitake was flagging. But at last the souls inside had begun to realize what was going on, and were forcing their way out of the barrier through the gaps that Shunsui was moving too quickly to find. The dome was now formed enough that it seemed as bright as day inside, which at least made it easier to search for stragglers. Almost all the souls had made it out, but Kyoraku was determined not to leave a single one behind.

Flash stepping through the border now felt like running headlong into a brick wall. Carrying souls all the way through was no longer an option, so instead he dropped them right inside the edge, where they could squeeze their way out on their own. The dome was shrinking fast, its perimeter now inside the hills that ringed the town, and it was picking up speed as it collapsed.

At last, a frantic search revealed no more helpless spirits caught within the spell. Kyoraku fought back the urge to faint.

"Shunsui!" a hoarse voice called.

Juushiro was the only other soul that had been strong enough to keep up for this long, and now he was the last one left inside with Kyoraku. He was barely upright, leaning against the barrier, but without the strength to force himself through. The dome was almost solid now, even the largest gaps in the light barely the size of a fist. Shunsui tried to push his way through, but the barrier repelled his effort.

"Go," croaked Ukitake. He doubled over, unable to hide a fit of coughing even by burying his face in his arm. When the convulsions subsided, there was even less hiding the red spatters on the sleeve of his _haori_. "Damn it all..."

"Cheer up, Juushiro. It's nothing a little rest hasn't cured before. When we get back, Ol' Yama might even give us a week off."

Ukitake managed a wan smile. "Somehow I doubt that."

"You're right. We'd have a better chance if I asked Retsu to let me take you drinking."

A laugh turned into more coughing almost as soon as it began.

"Come on, Juushiro. I didn't go to all this trouble only to leave you behind."

"You can still make it through, Shunsui-_san_. I know you can."

"No!" Kyoraku yelled loud enough that he shocked himself as much as Ukitake. "I'm not losing any more friends today." He bent down and hefted the other man to his feet, draping his right arm across his shoulders and ignoring his sounds of protest. He took a step back, and threw himself against the barrier with no luck. The gaps in the wall were no more than darkish specks in the light. He moved back, several steps this time, and then dragged Ukitake into the closest he could come to a running start, slamming his right shoulder into the edge. Still they bounced off, and Kyoraku just stayed standing. Snarling, he kicked at the wall of the _kido_, but all that did was send a sharp pain through his foot.

"This hasn't turned out quite like we'd hoped, has it?"

"We're not finished yet," Kyoraku said. He hauled them back even further this time. There were no longer any gaps to be found; the light around them was now a solid dome. "I'll flash step us through."

Ukitake gaped at him. "Shunsui, you can't—"

"Watch me." Kyoraku gathered every last scrap of _reiatsu_ he could muster beneath his feet, knowing that he would only have a single shot at this. Tightening his grip on Juushiro's wrist, he wrapped his left arm around the other man's waist. The last thing he wanted to do was lose hold of his friend on the way through.

The world around Kyoraku dissolved into a haze of light, and instantly pain erupted from every nerve in his body. Not bothering to hold in the scream that burst from his throat, he pressed on, forcing himself to maintain the _reiatsu_ propelling him. The experience was like nothing he could describe. He felt as though his skin was being ripped from his body, but still he pressed on. Every muscle felt like it was being sheared from his bones, and every bone felt about to break. He couldn't even feel if he still had hold of Juushiro, so he told his hands and arms to grip tighter, but he couldn't be sure his limbs were obeying his brain. Their bodies were being squeezed through spaces that were not large enough to admit them, but there was no turning back. He felt the barrier tearing at him as he moved, and the pain was even more blinding than the light. Shunsui would have sworn that whole pieces of his body were being torn away, left behind to be trapped by the spell. He was beginning to think they wouldn't make it, that quite simply his body would shut down before he could will it far enough. With a final, desperate, throat-splitting cry, he urged himself onward one last time. The light they were trapped within exploded into an overwhelming luminance that threatened to blind him.

The next thing he knew was the taste of dirt. With white spots exploding upon the backs of his eyelids, he moaned, taking in the smell of fresh grass. "Ohhh… That was a _bad_ idea…"

"Did we make it?" a voice beside him asked. It must have been Ukitake, but the ringing in his ears made it hard to say for sure.

"I'm not sure I want to know." The pervasive pain in his body was starting to fade, just enough to let him register how undignified a pose he was striking with his face pressed into the ground.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Juushiro. Though I must have hit my head… you didn't sound nearly so pretty a second ago."

"That wasn't me," Ukitake muttered.

Shunsui summoned his will, turning his face just far enough off of the ground to crack an eye open. Still mostly light-blinded, he could make out an unfamiliar pair of brown leather boots, and the tattered and torn hem of a white cloak.

"Are you hurt?"

Kyoraku didn't resist as he was turned over by a firm but gentle hand, and found himself looking through bleary vision at the outline of a woman's face in a fall of blonde hair. "Sighris…?" he muttered. He knew that was wrong as soon as he said it. The crystal-winged lady of Avalon, if she had lived even long enough to fall from the sky, was now trapped inside the shrinking walls of Kijuro's binding spell.

"I am her sister," the woman above him said softly, her voice blank. "I suppose we weren't introduced. I am Knight-Lieutenant Ilara Shei."

Kyoraku sat up, shaking his head. He cursed a tongue loosened by even a moment's confusion for causing the young woman any more pain. He had not had a very good look at her during Kijuro's battle with Avaris, but the resemblance to her sister was plain, as was her grief. "I'm sorry," he said.

Kneeling at his side, she held out a rather crumpled and sorry-looking straw hat. With her only arm, he did not fail to note, feeling another pang of sympathy. He accepted it with a grateful nod. "You're Tamison's lieutenant?" he asked. He pushed himself to his feet and turned to offer a hand to Juushiro.

"Yes."

"I'm glad you're safe, then. We met a girl in Avalon, she was rather worried about you. She was also the first to warn us about what was happening here."

The comment brought the hint of a smile to Ilara's face, just as he had hoped it would. "Sereh. I'm glad she found you."

"Shunsui." Ukitake's call caught his attention. In extricating them from the binding spell, Kyoraku had managed to fling them almost all the way back to the top of the hill. His white-haired friend was looking back down the slope.

The radiant dome filled the bowl of the valley beneath them like a half risen blue-white sun. Its compression had stopped at the edges of the town, but even this far outside it Shunsui could still feel an odd tugging sensation throughout his body. With a pang of fresh regret, he knew that inside it was one of his oldest friends and first teachers, and the monster of a hollow that he had offered his very life to stop.

"Only Captain Ise could have accomplished something like this," Juushiro said, as if reading his thoughts.

"I know," Shunsui acknowledged. "There's something wrong about this, though. Kijuro said that the spell would be able to shift the _juureichi_, but—" The end of his thought was cut off by a tremendous pulse of _reiatsu_. Kyoraku staggered, gasping for breath against what felt like a lead weight within his chest. The pulse came again, even stronger, and the edges of the dome quivered visibly.

"What—?" Ukitake gasped, before a third, still stronger burst of pressure washed over them. Shunsui realized with shock that the pressure wasn't coming from the dome… it was going _towards_ it. A fourth wave slammed into their backs, and most of the human souls nearby were knocked from their feet, cries of terror and panic filling the air. The fifth pulse came, and the glowing barrier shivered again. Shunsui could feel an echo deep in his chest after each wave. It was as though he was feeling every strike twice: once when it hit him, and again when it reached the dome.

The final burst was heralded by an audible roar. Rising like thunder, it was so intense that Kyoraku could actually see the pressure as it approached the valley from all sides, ripping through the air like a spectral tsunami hundreds of feet high. It broke over them with a force he could never hope to describe, leveling the souls, even the captains, like so many blades of grass crushed beneath a boot. He felt his breath torn from him with a wheeze as the wave passed. The rumbling that had filled his ears was replaced with utter silence, as though there was no air to carry the sound.

The wave of pressure seemed to crest, crashing into the dome with perfect symmetry. The curved walls of light were crushed inwards in the blink of an eye, vanishing with a blunt thud they could feel through the ground even without hearing it. A single tiny speck of light glimmered for an instant at the center of the ruins, then disappeared. Another roar was felt, and then heard, as a wall of air blasted across their backs. Rushing in to fill the vacuum, the gale was as brief as it was fierce.

Stunned silence presided over everyone and everything. If not for the familiar, almost imperceptible tremble of Ukitake's breathing beside him, Kyoraku would have thought that the void still prevailed.

He stared at the distant point where the light had flickered so briefly, unable to shake the feeling of a sudden emptiness inside him. And though Kijuro's fate was now beyond certain in Shunsui's mind, what he felt was not some poetic sentiment from that loss. There was a piece of himself – deep within his soul, beyond even the point where he found Katen Kyokotsu's voice – that was simply gone. An indefinable fragment of his very being had been torn away, prominent now only in its absence.

* * *

It took Urahara less than a second to recognize what Yoruichi was seeing from the vergence. The stream of living particles into Soul Society was slowing markedly, and even the portal's steady encroachment into the surrounding space had come to a halt. Then, like the inhalation of a monolithic mouth, Kisuke felt the flow reverse itself with a deep, earthy thrum that resonated straight into his chest.

"Kisuke, what's going on?" Yoruichi called.

Urahara blinked in amazement as the ragged edges of the vergence began retracting inwards. "Something is counteracting the pressure imbalance that was bringing the worlds together," he said, his voice both awestruck and confused. "The rift is sealing itself." Where before the destructive entrance of living particles had been tearing the collision points of the spiritual and material planes ever wider, the spirit particles drawn in the opposite direction were slowly patching the breaches shut, like the platelets within blood stitching a cut closed. Logically, the inverse would be true in the living world. By countering the suction of _kishi _that had been ripping open the distortions, the natural density of living matter would be like a bandage staunching a wound.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" she asked, hopeful but uncertain. Not that Urahara could blame her… It was the kind of thing that usually had him defying appearances to explain how much more doomed they were.

"It's good," he assured her. "But I just wish I knew how it was happening. Unless someone on the other side is using a _reiatsu_ seal on this specific breach – and I'd put the chances of that at something like one in a very, very big number – it means that the planar fusion is being countered at its source. But to do that would mean someone is shifting the _juureichi_."

"Well, that's _really_ good, right? That's what you said would need to happen to keep the living world and the afterlife from fusing completely."

"Right. But… well, to be honest I didn't even think that was feasible."

Yoruichi turned to stare at him, and a significant bolt of energy escaped her control to blast a very large section of the eastern wall of the _Daireimon_ Square into very small pieces. "You're telling me you didn't even think it was _possible_ to save the world?"

"I was just trying to deal with one problem at a time!" he protested. "Besides, I didn't say it was impossible. I just thought it was impractical. The power needed to pull off something like that would be…" he groped for a word for several seconds, "…big," he concluded lamely.

"You can teach the rest of this class later," Michiko barked. "But in case you hadn't noticed, that thing sealing itself shut is our last, best chance to kill this hollow!"

"A valid argument, Lieutenant Kuchiki," Urahara replied.

The Vasto Lorde was struggling furiously against the frozen tendrils that held him. Each _kido_-imbued thread was fragile on its own, but the tight webbing that Michiko was constantly spinning around the hollow was just enough to keep him occupied. Even so, Darrus' three forms were tearing through the net faster than Michiko could weave it. The lieutenant was tiring fast, and she had nowhere near the reserves of strength that the Vasto Lorde possessed.

The rupture was already less than half as large as it had been mere moments ago. They would only have one shot at this. Though with a wry smirk that he kept well to himself, Urahara knew that chance was no more or less than what they had before.

Kisuke forced himself back into focus. Even if the vergences were being sealed, that just meant that instead of being annihilated by a cataclysmic planar fusion, failure meant leaving the entire population of a nearly defenseless Soul Society to the mercy of the most powerful hollow they had ever seen.

His jaw clenched tight enough to hurt. No pressure.

The aura of physically-charged _kido_ around Yoruichi intensified until her entire body was limned by the pale currents of _Shunko_. She reached back to ready a strike. The more she gathered, the more wild tendrils sparked outwards. They dug rents through the tiles beneath her feet, burned holes in the alley walls, and burst off into the night sky, but somehow she managed to keep the energy under control.

When she reached the apex of her draw, her left hand held almost behind her body, Urahara dropped to one knee, plunging Benihime's point down. The two-handed thrust buried half the sword's blood-red blade through the tiles and into the ground beneath.

He watched the muscles of Yoruichi's back shift as she howled a kiai. Focusing the energy in her grasp with every shred of will and determination she possessed, she thrust out her arm, driving the power she harnessed into a single, concentrated blast.

As Yoruichi's arm moved forward, Urahara drew on the last remnants of his _bankai_, calling upon the tears and fragments of the dome buried beneath their feet, where they had bled between the tiles after being shattered by the eruption of the _Daireimon_. Before the attack had even fully left Yoruichi's hand, Urahara whispered a command.

"_Susurinaki Benihime: Sabishiki_."

As the wave of crackling _kido_ launched towards the struggling Darrus, a thin red-brown mist billowed up from the ground. It surged through every minute crack between the precisely-cut stone squares of the floor, as well as the larger gaps and divots left by the battle. Kneeling, Kisuke felt his whole left leg go dead at once. He lost all feeling in his right foot at the same time, followed by his ankle and calf. When the vapors rose high enough to reach his thigh, he toppled over, no longer able to support his own weight. The rest of his body went numb as it was enveloped by the mist. Unable to brace his fall, his head bounced off the hard tile.

As Urahara lay there on his right side, he heard Yoruichi's startled cry. The reddish haze was thin enough to afford him a full view as the Goddess of Flash tried to _shunpo_ away, only to stumble with an uncharacteristic lack of grace when her legs refused to obey. Though unable to move his head, a curse and a muffled thud off to one side told him that Lieutenant Kuchiki had suffered a similar fate.

Kisuke Urahara wished more than anything that he could have smiled then, but his face was as paralyzed as the rest of his body. That did nothing to rob him of contentment as he watched the burst of _Shunko_ surge towards Darrus. Yoruichi's aim had been perfect.

"Damn you, _shinigami_!" Darrus screamed. All three of his bodies had crumpled into a heap as the mist washed over them, wrapped together by the silvery web of Michiko's _shikai_ as neatly as a gift. "NO!" The pale light of Yoruichi's attack struck the hollow squarely in the center of his human form. Even if that aspect was incoherent, the energy tangled itself into the frozen web and pushed the hollow towards the closing vergence.

Unable to move, unable to resist, the Vasto Lorde roared in defiance, his cries tearing through the air with an almost physical force. But even if the hollow tried to use its _reiatsu_ as it had against Urahara's _bankai_, the instant of confusion brought on by the surprise attack had bought enough time for physics to do the rest. Sheer momentum would have been enough, but Kisuke noted with proud satisfaction that Yoruichi's attack was as relentless as she was, plunging Darrus all the way into the rupture.

The hollow's howls shifted in tenor as the air that carried them was torn apart by the collapsing vortex. The Vasto Lorde's immense spiritual pressure kept him intact far longer than Urahara would have thought possible amidst the savagely conflicting energies of the precipice. The sound remained after his body had faded into the darkness of the void, and Urahara would have sworn that he could still hear his enraged cries, faint and distant, even as the last traces of the vergence twisted in upon themselves, vanishing from sight.

The rusty haze Urahara had brought out receded as he at last allowed his _bankai_ to dissipate. Benihime's shape and color returned to their normal sealed states. For a long moment, nothing was said. After the destructive tumult it had witnessed, even the _Seireitei_ itself seemed to be relishing the belatedly peaceful silence of the evening.

"Kisuke?"

Urahara shifted his gaze as best he could to focus on the speaker. She was lying flat on her back, an arm and a leg pinned awkwardly beneath her body. "Yes, Yoruichi-_san_?" His lips still mostly numb, the words came out slurred but recognizable.

"Was there a part of your plan that you perhaps forgot to mention?"

"Ah, _gomen_. I thought it was for the best to maintain the element of surprise."

Quiet returned for several seconds. They could hear indistinct shouts off in the distance, as well as the lilting, cyclical verses of a nearby thrush.

"Kisuke?"

"Hmm?"

"One of these days, I really am going to kill you."


	15. Chapter Fifteen: Revenant

**Chapter Fifteen**

**Revenant**

The sun had begun to rise over western Europe, and Shunsui had not yet worked up the courage to go back into what remained of the town of Esprit. Nor was he alone in that reluctance. Throughout the night and into the morning, the Soulguard had arrived in force, establishing up a makeshift camp on the hilltops outside the settlement.

The soldiers of Avalon had provided tents for he and Ukitake, and though his friend had made use of them for some sorely needed rest, Kyoraku had not found it in him to sleep. He spent the night perched on a low stool outside, halfheartedly tending a meager fire. In the wake of the battle he had watched activity wash over the area like the flotsam left by a storm tide. Ilara had sat with him for a time, and he had caught glimpses of other faces in the hazy torchlight through the night, but the Soulguard had for the most part left the _shinigami_ on their own. Had he been at all himself, the edge of tension saturating the bustle would have stood out. But the only thing Shunsui's eyes had been pointed towards for any length of time was the bedraggled shape of his straw hat as he slowly turned it in his hands, over and over again. He tried to ignore the feel of Madoukishi pressed against his side, slipped beneath his _shihakusho_.

"You should get some rest, Shunsui. Even if you don't sleep." He hadn't even heard Ukitake emerge from the tent. Kyoraku made a noncommittal noise as Juushiro crouched down to add a few more sticks to the struggling embers. The two captains sat in silence as the flames rekindled, wisps of gray smoke drifting upwards into the morning light. The camp buzzed around them, but the only sounds between the two were the crackles and muffled pops as the wood took light.

"Things have gotten busy." Shunsui stopped turning his hat. He started picking at the frayed edge of one of the twines that was sticking out. From the corner of his eye, he could see Juushiro observing him for a moment before he replied.

"They have."

He pulled the twisted piece of straw free. "I hope they haven't forgotten about us."

"I sincerely doubt that."

Kyoraku examined the golden brown fiber, turning it between two fingers. "They don't know what to do with us, do they?" He tossed the strand into the fire.

"I suppose not," Ukitake said carefully.

Some part of Kyoraku's mind that was still functioning, perhaps on centuries of hard-won habit, noted his friend's discomfort. In honesty, Shunsui himself didn't know quite what to make of his own mood. He had lost friends before. He had ordered subordinates into lethal battles, men and women he held as dear as siblings, and not all of them had returned. And though his outward youth belied it, he had lived long enough to see many souls age and pass on from the empyrean plane in the cycle of life. Death was at the very center of his existence, a subtext of every conversation, a fact of every daily task. His world was that of heaven, and he and his comrades were its guardians and masters. Yet somehow he had never before felt so…mortal. "I could really use a drink."

A faint smile tugged at the edges of Ukitake's mouth, somewhat fading the worried lines under his eyes. "So could I."

Shunsui wanted to be angry. At the Soulguard, for asking them here. At Kijuro, for ordering him away. At himself, for not having done more. At the lives that had been lost. At the casualties that had struck him so near, and so close together, his lieutenant and now his _sempai_. At the plague, at the souls it filled the world with, at hollows in general, and the Vasto Lorde in particular. He had spent the whole night trying to make himself as mad as he thought he should be. True to form, Shunsui Kyoraku was a sucker for lost causes.

He stood with a sigh, ignoring the protests of his stiff legs. With a sharp tug, he pulled out half of the chin string of his straw hat, which had been cut what seemed like a lifetime ago inside the Soulguard meeting hall. After a moment's consideration, he tossed the rest of the hopelessly crumpled cap onto the fire. Ukitake looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, but made no comment. Shunsui gathered his shoulder-length brown hair into a ponytail, tying it together with the string. Reaching into one of the pockets sewn into the inner lining of his _haori_, he produced a pair of hairpins. They were red pinwheels, shaped like flowers. He studied them for a moment, feeling a nostalgic smirk spread over his face.

By now, Ukitake's expression had shifted into a full-blown inquiry.

"Kijuro bought these for me when I graduated from the Academy," Shunsui said by way of explanation. "He knew how much I hated how short Ol' Yama made the students keep their hair."

Juushiro chuckled. "How could I forget? It was the only rule you obeyed. No doubt it had something to do with the threat that _sensei_ made about using Ryujin Jakka as a barber. Released, as I recall."

"He met me at the door to the Eighth Squad barracks, the first morning after I'd been given my assignment. He handed these over, didn't say a single word, just dropped them in my hand and started to walk away. I asked him if they were for when I grew my hair out. He stopped, and turned to look me square in the eyes. 'Not quite,' he said. 'They're for when you grow up.'"

He reached behind his head, sticking the pins through the string. "So how do I look?"

Ukitake cradled his chin thoughtfully. "Like yourself," he decided.

"Good enough. Now, get up off your lazy butt, sleepyhead. It's time we go find some answers."

Shunsui set off straight for Esprit, making his way at a brisk walk through the Soulguard camp. The shapes he recognized as the unique heraldry of the seven companies were on display everywhere. They were stitched into tents, hanging on banners, and emblazoned onto many of the unique articles of clothing that marked the styles of each company. As they got further out from the center of the camp, however, he started noticing more styles and sigils, many of which could not identify from their short stay in Avalon. There were also far, far more than seven.

He and Ukitake shared a questioning look. "Sir Tamison mentioned there were other cities besides Avalon," Juushiro offered. "Perhaps the companies have regional distinctions?"

"Maybe," Kyoraku said, sounding doubtful. Where the symbols of the Soulguard were simple and two-toned, such as First Company's black chevron over gray, or the silver rose on white of Tamison's fourth, there was little of that solidarity to be found here. The devices were shaped as animals and fantastic beasts, iconic figures of human history and religion, even a few common items like tools. There were cuts of cloth in every color, bordered and slashed, checkered and striped.

Shunsui pushed his curiosity aside as they neared the edge of the encampment. At least he tried to, before they were stopped just beyond the outermost ring of tents by two sentries in strikingly red tunics. A golden patch was sewn onto their chests in the shape of a closed fist wreathed in flame. They turned towards the captains as they approached, lowering their spears to bar the way.

"No one is to leave the camp, by order of Highlord Saerin," the one on the left announced. His tone was brusque, but not quite unfriendly.

Shunsui bit back a sigh, and kept his expression neutral. "You don't have to worry about us, gentlemen. We can take care of ourselves."

The sentry's eyes narrowed as he took in the captains' attire. "Who're you, then?"

"We're _shinigami_ from Soul Society," Ukitake explained patiently. "Your Lord Commander invited us here to assist in the battle with the Vasto Lorde."

The man's expression had not been very warm to begin with. Now it soured further, his scowl twisting into a sneer. "Reckon I don't care who the ghosties ask to do their dirty work, but no Lord Commander gave me any orders."

Shunsui was taken aback by the man's hostility. "We met with Lord Commander Nightstep personally just yesterday. Perhaps you hadn't been informed yet?"

"Hrmph," the watchman snorted. "Sounds to me that you're the ones as missed the news."

"What news?"

Before the man could respond, a familiar voice called out. "Captain Kyoraku! Captain Ukitake!" They turned to see Tamison Silverrose striding towards them, a hand raised in greeting.

"Sir Tamison," said Juushiro. "It's good to see a familiar face." Familiar it was, but there was no missing the weariness to be found there, in the slump of his shoulders and the bags beneath his eyes. Tamison's hair was limp and tousled, with none of the silvery sheen that had struck Shunsui at their first meeting. Even his armor looked dull. And though he was no shorter than he had been yesterday, the man looked smaller, somehow, than Kyoraku remembered.

"I'm glad I caught you. I feared you were lost in the crowd when I could not find you at your camp." The knight turned the two red-clad guards. "These men are guests of the Soulguard. I will escort them."

The two sentries shared a glance, but grudgingly moved on. Once they were out of earshot, Kyoraku gave their host a questioning look. "I can't help but feel I've missed something."

"I apologize for the confusion," said Tamison. "The fist-and-flames sigil those two wear would become a familiar sight to you beyond the walls of our fortress. They are of Highlord Saerin's personal guard."

"Who is this Highlord?" Ukitake asked.

"Outside the Soulguard, the greater part of Avalon is a feudal society ruled by a council of nobles, somewhat similar to your own Central Forty-Six. The most influential family among the nobility passes down the title of Highlord. House Saerin currently holds that honor."

"And here I thought we were the only ones who had to contend with stuffy and pretentious blowhards with more ego than sense."

"Don't mind him," Ukitake told Tamison. "He likes to ignore that both of us come from nobility."

"And he likes to forget that Ol' Yama didn't drag him along to weekly sessions of the Forty-Six for two years."

Ukitake sighed. "It was your own fault for joking that Genryuusai-_dono_ only attended the meetings to catch up on his sleep."

"Never mind my underappreciated sense of humor." Kyoraku turned back to Tamison, eyeing the knight shrewdly. "The better question is why the Soulguard, as desperate for capable men as you are, allows souls with even as much spiritual pressure as those two—" he jerked a thumb in the direction the sentries had walked off "—play guard dog for some noble."

Tamison's mouth twisted. "Surely you've wondered about deeper questions than that. Such as why an order that guards a stretch of the living world from Dublin to Constantinople can only muster a few hundred souls with significant spiritual power."

As a matter of fact, Shunsui had. Though the regions had similar populations, Soul Society could field almost twice as many men as the Soulguard, as best he could tell. "What're you implying?"

"Only that the Soulguard have never been as strong as we should be. You might even surmise that we are not the only true power of Avalon. It is not my place to say more… But I'm sure you've noticed my penchant for making observations that others feel would best be kept quiet." The knight's eyes glimmered, his expression part playful and part devious… in proportions even Kyoraku did not quite like. Having spent most of the previous day with the man, he had seen his demeanor enough to discern that the mischievous streak Silverrose referenced was probably not always harmless. It seemed he was only worse without a steadier presence like Sir Konway around to curb his antics.

"Enough of my blabbering, though," Tamison said. "I've just come from Avalon; Ilara was able to tell me her account of the battle last night, but she was at a loss as to its resolution. She could only guess that Captain Ise used some very potent magic to defeat the Vasto Lorde. I'd like to know more, if I could. We are all deeply in his debt, and yours as well."

"You're welcome to join us, then," Kyoraku offered. "To imprison the hollow, Kijuro used a binding spell; one more powerful than any we knew existed. Being that we're all still alive, it must have worked, but we were heading into the city to find out more."

"Inside the city?" he asked, surprised. "Well, that won't make our friends here very happy."

"So we've been told. What's going on?"

Tamison looked around furtively, as though checking to see if they would be overheard. "I wish I knew. Since your friend cast his spell, no one has been able to enter the spirit nexus, if it even still _is_ the nexus. Lieutenant Shei told me that she tried to investigate, but she couldn't even breathe. Inside an area that starts not a hundred feet from where we stand, every single spirit particle, every last scrap of spiritual energy, they're all gone."

"We were almost trapped inside the spell as it collapsed," Ukitake said. "Considering what it took to get out of it, that doesn't surprise me."

"Ilara tried to secure the area, but she had less than fifty able-bodied men left after the hollow attacks yesterday. She sent word to Avalon for reinforcements, but something about this has caught the attention of the nobles. In my experience, they couldn't care less about the living world, yet they've sent men here in force. By now only a small portion of the soldiers milling about right next to us are sworn to the Soulguard. Most belong to House Saerin and their vassals, but that's not the point."

The concept of Avalon's noble houses fielding an army more powerful than the Soulguard was enough to give Kyoraku pause. The _Gotei_ Thirteen weren't the only force in Soul Society; most noble families hosted a handful of potent souls, academy dropouts hired as bodyguards or retired _shinigami_ from the bloodline. Then there was the Spirit King's household, and of course the Zero Division. But those were nothing on the scale of what was encamped here. When Shunsui had felt the _reiatsu_ of an army gathering around them, he had assumed that it was the Soulguard. Apparently not. "What is the point, then?" he asked.

"They've formed a cordon, refusing to allow anyone to leave. The nobles have taken an interest in this place, and we lack the strength to do anything about it. The Soulguard is in disarray, to say the very least."

Kyoraku listened to the rising tenor of concern in the man's voice, and studied him closely. Sir Tamison was more than just a little disheveled from lack of sleep. The knight was harried and worn, pushing himself on determination and adrenaline.

Juushiro had noticed, as well, if his tone was any indication. "Sir Tamison, what's happened?"

The knight took a deep breath, eyes bright, as though he were struggling to keep his emotions in check. "The Lord Commander is dead."

"What?" Kyoraku barked, only just keeping his voice beneath a shout. Weeks, she had said, he thought numbly. Weeks before her strength would give out at last from the loss of her soul sleep. Not now, not when it seemed the Soulguard most needed their leader, her calming presence and the steady strength she possessed even in the face of her own imminent death. "How?"

"The attacks on the lakeside town and the refugees outside the citadel," Tamison explained. "They weren't mere riots. While you battled Avaris here in the living world, his brother attacked Avalon directly. If not for your arrival, we may have lost everything. An attack on the nexus would almost certainly have drawn us away, and Avalon would have been defenseless.

"The reports came in that it was Ais. We should have known, when the Lord Commander ordered us back. We should have…" his fists were clenched at his sides, his whole body shaking. "She detonated her soulblade. She drew the Vasto Lorde away from the city, and to save us from him she used all the life she had left."

Two hollows. Two monsters that had slain more than a dozen captain-class fighters, and it had taken the sacrifice of two more to finally stop them. Kyoraku sighed, forcing himself to focus on the present. "What do we do now, Sir Tamison?"

The knight visibly gathered himself. "The nobles have us outnumbered. That is not like to change, nor is it a problem we can ask you to deal with. You will be free to go, even if I have to cut you a path myself. But if there is anything within the Soulguard's borders that you wish to do, such as search the spirit nexus for your friend's remains, I suggest you do it now."

Shunsui blinked. Unconsciously, a hand brushed against the outline of Madoukishi beneath his uniform. Was he hoping to bring back Kijuro's body, as well? Was that was this was about? "I don't know what we're going to find in there," he said honestly. "But I want to see for myself."

"Then we'd best be quick," said Tamison, and he led them down the hill.

They had only taken a few steps before Shunsui noticed a change. The spirit particles that permeated the atmosphere, even in the living world, felt wrong. The air started to grow thinner, worse with every step. Soon every breath was a struggle, but the discomfort reached a peak. It seemed that just enough _reishii_ from outside had diffused into the vacuum by now to make breathing uncomfortable, but not impossible. Kyoraku gave Juushiro a worried glance, but the ailing captain gave him a strained nod.

They didn't speak as they entered the town. Shunsui stepped forward, leading them through the rubble-strewn path towards the square where they had last seen Kijuro. Oddly enough, as best Shunsui could tell the living particles had been utterly unaffected by the 100th _bakudo_. Since most _kido_ could affect _kishi_ and humans, as the ruins themselves would attest, Kyoraku would have expected to see the entire landscape wiped out by a spell as strong as the one he and Ukitake had just barely escaped. Instead, the rubble looked just as they had left it, only without the swirling planar vergences… or any other sign of _reishii_. The plumes of dust swept up by the steady breeze indicated that the air itself was normal, despite the lack of spirit particles that caused the breathing difficulties for the _shinigami_. The spirit nexus was gone, and of that there could be no doubt.

Kyoraku led them to the open space that marked the town square, pausing at the edge to scan the ground. The faint glimmer of hope persisting in his heart that they would find Captain Ise standing there, waiting to ask them what had taken so long, at last guttered out. He shut his eyes, running a hand over his face. Whatever had he expected, whatever had driven him to this place, he was here now. Foolish or not, he might as well take a look.

The three men spread out through the square, doing little other than pawing distractedly through the layer of ash and dust. The absence of any sign of the Vasto Lorde, Kijuro, or the spell he had cast was starting to strike Kyoraku as strange. _Kido_ was capable of many incredible feats, but the power to vanish things from existence was not one of them. Modify them and destroy them, yes. Transport them, maybe… had the spell perhaps transferred the spirit particles, _shinigami_ captain and hollow included, to some other dimension? Shunsui admitted the possibility, but his instincts told him otherwise. He had felt the binding spell as he passed through it, time and again, and that made him sure enough.

Another potential was that the spell had resulted in something very small. The scale of the dome as it first appeared had been vast, and it had gradually compressed. The sheer amount of spiritual pressure the spell had trapped meant that it could only get so small, but smaller than a human? Certainly.

"Shunsui," Ukitake called, his voice barely carrying. He was near the center of the square, knelt over something. Kyoraku walked over, realizing with a burst of dread that it was a body. The feeling faded quickly, though; while the body was face-down, it was clad in boots, trousers, and a shirt of light armor, not a black _shihakusho_.

"It's the human, I think," said Juushiro sadly. "He was with Lieutenant Shei and the Quincy when we arrived."

"Ilara mentioned him," Sir Tamison said. "His name was Caylen. An English knight, trapped in the town when the hollows first attacked."

Kyoraku felt a pang of regret, knowing that they had left him behind when they ran. There was no way they could have found him, indeed no way of knowing whether or not he had still been alive at the time, but he still felt sorry for a man who had been an innocent bystander to the clash.

A hint of movement caught Kyoraku's eye. He squinted, sure his mind was playing tricks on him.

The young man was unmoving, but there by his face the fine layer of ash and dust that had settled over the town was shifting intermittently. It moved in fits and starts, but with a regularity that could mean…

"Is he… breathing?"

"Impossible," Tamison said. "How could a human have survived all this?"

Ukitake leaned over, holding a hand near Caylen's mouth. After a moment, his eyes widened. "I think he's alive." He grabbed the young knight's shoulder, rolling him onto his back.

"Black blazes!" Tamison swore. The shock of finding a human alive was turned into confusion and horror at what they saw now. Caylen's chest was a red ruin, the front of his ringmail stained solid. There was a ragged hole in the armor, over the left side of his ribcage where his heart had been. Beneath was a wound caked with blood, dried and brittle.

And suspended within the wound, glowing faintly with violet light, was a tiny, twisting sphere. It held a whorl of colors, white and blue and purple. The hues mixed and shifted in constant motion beneath a glassy surface, shining brightly where it caught the light.

The hairs on the back of Shunsui's neck stood on end. As he looked, he felt a draw from the orb, a stifling presence unlike anything he had felt before. It was as though the power of a _shinigami_ had gotten tangled with the ravenous aura of a hollow, and the two were mixed up past the point of distinguishing one from the other. There was no concrete power; no _reiatsu_, no energy. Only the specter of a void, looming and intangible.

"What is that?" Tamison breathed.

Ukitake reached out, gently testing the edges of Caylen's body around the wound. With effort Kyoraku kept himself from snatching his friend's hand back, and he watched with a mixture of dread and fascination.

"It's encased in something," said Juushiro. A faint, almost transparent, layer had taken shape over the orb where Caylen's skin would have been. The pale captain touched it gingerly, and the surface seemed to give like flesh. "It feels…" he paused, pressing two fingers down firmly. "I feel a pulse," he said with wonder.

Kyoraku failed to suppress a shiver. "Whatever this is, it's out of our league. I almost wish Captain Unohana were here, but somehow I don't think even she would have any answers."

"Shunsui… this orb, it may be the end result of Captain Ise's spell."

"If that's true, then what happened?" Tamison wondered.

"I don't think any of us can say for sure," said Ukitake. "But this young man has survived a wound that should have killed anyone, let alone a human. The _kido_ has fused to him somehow, and it appears to be keeping him alive. How and why, we can't know."

Tamison shook his head. "If only your captain was still alive to tell us what his spell actually did."

A disquieting thought occurred to Kyoraku. "What if he is?"

Ukitake and Silverrose both turned to look at him. "You mean…"

Shunsui gave his friend a somber nod. "The spell trapped spirit particles. _All_ spirit particles. And it sealed them inside that," he pointed at the orb.

"There's no way that he's still alive," objected Tamison. "And even if by some miracle he is, that would mean…"

"The Vasto Lorde is in there, too," Kyoraku concluded grimly.

The observation hung in the air between the three for a long time. Each was lost in his own thoughts and implications, until a noise came from behind them. Kyoraku turned to see a _senkaimon_ form, in the shape of a portcullis within an arch of stone blocks. The gate rose with a faint rattle, revealing the empty brightness of a passage to the afterlife.

Three figures stepped out of the light and into the living world. In the lead was a dark-haired man, with a black beard and matching hair that reached his shoulders. His clothing was clean and simple, but of a thick cut that marked it as expensive. He wore a tabard of rich maroon cloth, emblazoned with a larger version of the crest they had seen on the sentries, sewn from shining golden thread. He was flanked on his left by a giant, almost seven feet of man and muscle and metal. From neck to toes not an inch of his body was unprotected, either by tight links of chain or plates polished to a shine. His head was bare but for a short crop of brown hair, but a visored helm was held in the crook of his arm. Both men possessed enough _reiatsu_ for Shunsui to place them on par with captains, though only the armored hulk's spiritual pressure had the tempered air of a warrior.

The third newcomer was a young woman in carmine robes, their red even deeper than the man's tunic. With a start, Shunsui recognized the face half-hidden beneath her hooded cloak: it was Sereh, the girl who had first warned them about the collision of the planes. She looked miserable.

"The sentries told me you were skulking about, Silverrose," the first man said. "I suppose it's no surprise to find you where you're not supposed to be."

"Highlord Saerin," Tamison greeted. "I might say the same of you."

"Sir Konway's orders to hold post do not appear to have reached you. Then again, if they had I would not expect such a trifling thing to still your adventurous spirit." Saerin's voice was all smooth courtesy. He spoke as though he and Silverrose were old friends, but the tone did not carry to his expression. His face was a cool mask, all sharp lines and hard edges, made for scowling.

"I go where I am needed. Speaking of which, what brings so many of your bannermen to the living world? Not that we mind the company."

"I had hoped to meet your honored guests," Saerin said, sidestepping the question as neatly as the _shinigami_ could have dodged a charging hollow. There was something about the wordplay, as well as the Highlord's smile, that Shunsui did not like. "Captain Kyoraku, Captain Ukitake, your reputations precede you. I am Temerron Saerin, Highlord of Avalon."

"The pleasure is ours," Ukitake replied, polite but wary. Kyoraku did not fail to note that the Highlord had neglected to introduce his companions.

"My colleagues among the Central Forty-Six speak most highly of you," Saerin went on. "While I would like nothing better than to give you a proper welcome to Avalon's domain, I fear that matters are too unsettled at the moment."

_Is he asking us to stay, or telling us to leave?_ Until he was sure of what they were actually talking about, Kyoraku took the time to measure his reply. "We understand. The Soulguard have made gracious hosts, but we wouldn't wish to impose on your hospitality."

"I appreciate that. I must confess, even this opportunity must pass sooner than I would like. We are actually here for Sir Tamison."

The knight's eyes narrowed. "What business do you have with me?"

"The Council of Nobles has convened an inquiry," the Highlord replied, cool green eyes fixed on the knight. "All officers of the Soulguard are summoned to appear."

"By whose authority?" Tamison demanded.

"Mine," Saerin said sharply. "Yesterday's fiasco has cost you what little support you had left. Thousands are dead, right in the heart of Avalon, including your Lord Commander. Your order has failed in its duty, sir, and shall be called to account."

Silverrose's gaze darkened, a grim smile spreading over his face. "So this is your play, then?" He shook his head, chuckling darkly. "Why am I not surprised? The army you sent here isn't for the spirit nexus. They're here for me."

"Don't be a fool," Saerin replied. "This company was sent for your Knight-Lieutenant, though I'm told she has refused to leave. You have quite a stubborn subordinate."

"I told you Lara wouldn't abandon her post," the girl snapped suddenly, glaring at the Highlord from beneath her hood. "She—"

"Be quiet, Sereh!" Saerin growled over his shoulder. "You've caused enough trouble as it is. I find you the finest sages and tutors in Avalon, but Merlin himself could not dim your favor of Shei and that old fool Cormier. You have too much of your mother in you."

"But not enough to make you see sense, it seems," the young woman said bitterly.

His jaw clenched. "Willful girl. Your brothers would never defy me like this."

"Try to betroth them to a sniffling child, and see how obedient they are."

The Highlord of Avalon's face flushed almost the color of his tabard. "Enough. Another word, and Satyr will take you back to Avalon. Bound and gagged, if he must."

The girl cast a withering glance up at the giant looming to her left, but held her tongue.

Tamison laughed. "If you need your captain of guards to corral a sharp-tongued girl, how do you plan to bring the Soulguard to heel, Highlord? We do not scare so easily, not even faced with a man as big as Sir Alyn."

His daughter may have known how to raise his ire, but Temerron Saerin's composure seemed more than a match for the knight's jibes. "My men here at Esprit are the least part of the picture, sir. The nobles have sent detachments to Marseilles, Barcelona, Milan, Frankfurt, and Athens to compel the appearance of all the high officers."

"That strikes me as overdone. Were you expecting us to resist?"

The nobleman scowled. "Do you think me an ignorant brute? These men aren't here to arrest you. They're here to garrison the material plane in your absence."

Tamison frowned. "Since when did you care what happens to the living?"

"I don't," Saerin replied bluntly. "But responsibilities must be fulfilled. That is something the Holy Order of the Soulguard has forgotten, and we mean to rectify it."

"Forgive me, Highlord, but that's not fair," Shunsui interjected. "We may not have been here long, but Sir Tamison and his comrades have shown nothing but dedication towards—"

"Are these your words, or the words of Soul Society, Captain?" interrupted Saerin. "I understand that you are their guests, but I suggest you remember your place in this matter."

Shock was the only thing that kept Kyoraku from replying to that with some choice words that would have drastically soured inter-regional relations, at least until Ukitake placed a warning hand on his shoulder.

"We apologize, Highlord," said Juushiro. "We don't mean to interfere in your affairs." Kyoraku glared at his friend, frustrated all the more because Ukitake was right. They had no business interjecting themselves into Avalon's politics. Doing so would not be looked upon kindly by Soul Society's government, and while the wrath of the Central Forty-Six frightened Shunsui only insomuch as their ability to bore him to death, this was not a battle they could fight without great risk of making things even worse for Sir Tamison and the rest of the Soulguard.

"I appreciate your understanding," the Highlord said. "These matters are ours to deal with, and I'm sure you're anxious to return to Soul Society."

The dismissal was obvious. It would seem that their mission to Avalon had come to an end, barely a day after it began. Kyoraku glanced down at the prone form of Caylen, and the shimmering orb in his chest; an orb that quite possibly contained a fellow _Gotei_ Thirteen captain, not to mention an incredibly powerful hollow. But the thought of leaving such a thing behind in the hands of Avalon, amidst unrest and internecine struggles that seemed poised to cripple an already weakened region...

Tamison, it seemed, had come to the same conclusion. "Very well, Highlord. There's no need to put any more of our disagreements on display. If you want me back in Avalon for this mummer's farce of an inquiry, so be it." With a suddenness that had Saerin's guard halfway to his weapon, Tamison drew his soulblade and stabbed it into the empty air before him. A new gateway appeared, and the knight stormed through it without another word.

Sereh followed him, seeming as eager for the excuse to leave her father's side as anything. With a dismissive wave from the Highlord, Sir Alyn followed her through. He strode past the _shinigami_ with an appraising look, and a small but respectful nod of acknowledgement.

Saerin stood in front of the two captains, and held out his hand. "Do not think I am unaware of what you've done for Avalon," the Highlord said. "Or that I'm ungrateful."

Ukitake and Kyoraku each shook the offered hand. Shunsui's urge to break a few bones with the gesture was forgotten when the Highlord cast a conspicuous glance at the body lying on the ground behind them. "I wish we had more time to get acquainted… yet we all have more pressing concerns, I think," he said pointedly. "Safe journey, captains." He stepped through the gate, which rattled shut and disappeared, leaving the two _shinigami_ alone with… _What, exactly?_

"Why do I get the feeling that we've just been left holding the wrong end of the sword?" Kyoraku muttered. He frowned down at Caylen and the swirling spherical mystery in his chest.

"You may be right, Shunsui," said Juushiro. "But for now, let's just go home."

**…**

Kisuke Urahara stepped outside First Division Headquarters, blinking against the sunlight. Two guards pulled the double doors closed behind him, and he resisted the urge to stretch his aching body. Spending four hours standing at attention to deliver a report to the Captain-Commander was not the first activity he would have chosen once Fourth Division had cleared him to leave the infirmary, but Yamamoto had not been inclined towards patience upon his return from the living world.

The damage to the _Seireitei_ had been bad enough, but there were still fires raging in some sections of _Rukongai_. The chaos may have started in the upper districts, but those had just been sparks. The rest of the Town of Wandering Spirits had gone up like dry kindling, both the buildings and the people, a decade of restlessness and fear boiling over in the span of a single night. The _mononoke_ had turned out to be the least of their worries. Control of dozens of districts, mostly in the outer regions, had been lost to uprisings. Several more were being locked down by three captains and no less than a hundred seated officers. Scores of _shinigami_ had been killed; in the fires, overwhelmed by the rioters, or struck down by a few of the _mononoke _that had eluded capture. Urahara didn't want to think how many common souls had died. At this point, the victory over the Vasto Lorde inside the Court was no more than cold comfort.

"You look like hell, Kisuke."

Urahara snapped out of his reverie. "Yoruichi-_san_. What're you doing here?"

She rolled her golden eyes at him, an expression that almost hid how tired she looked. "You think you're the only one who's going to get an interrogation from Yamamoto? I'll consider myself lucky if he doesn't draw his sword and put me on a spit as soon as I go inside."

"Don't worry," he reassured her. "He seems to be in a good mood, all things considered. I still have most of my eyebrows, anyway." A good bellwether of the Captain-Commander's darker moods was often how much facial hair you lost when standing close enough to speak to him.

"You don't command the Patrol Corps. A third of the _Rukongai_ burning to the ground in a riot isn't going to reflect well on the group tasked with security, not to mention the apprehension of elements of unrest and dissent."

Urahara had tried to take responsibility for what had happened. In his mind, it had been his intelligence that had failed to reveal the whole plot, and his plan that had failed to completely stop it. He knew better than to make that argument to Yoruichi, however. "I don't think the Captain-Commander is looking for a scapegoat. He knows how thin the plague has stretched us, and for neglecting Soul Society's defenses he seems mad at himself as much as anyone else."

"Well if I were you, I'd still avoid any roasted meat they offer in the mess halls for the next few days. Just to be safe."

Urahara chuckled. "Who's going to have time for food? With Lieutenant Kusunoki killed in action, I've been placed in command of Twelfth Division until Captain Ise returns."

"Good luck with that. Times like this, a lieutenant's post isn't all it's cracked up to be. Anyway, I'd better not keep the Captain-Commander waiting any longer." She clapped him on the shoulder as she walked past.

Urahara didn't manage a goodbye, as he was too busy biting back a scream. The whole left side of his body was still raw and burnt, though the bandages were hidden by a fresh uniform.

Trying not to rub his tender shoulder, or breathe too deeply with damaged ribs, or limp too obviously, he made his way towards Twelfth Division. Even the divisions that were supposed to be rotated off of operations had been recalled to duty to quell the unrest, and the _Seireitei_ was all but deserted. He passed a few First Division members on patrol, as well as a handful of Fourth Division squads making their way between repair sites and cleaning assignments.

"The _Seireitei_ is rather peaceful like this, don't you think?"

Urahara nearly jumped out of his sandals at the sudden voice from behind him. Taking a breath to allow his heart to return to rhythm, he ran a hand through his hair. "Tessai-_san_, if you're going to insist on sneaking up on me like that, I swear I'll have you transferred to the Stealth Forces."

"Hrmm," the big man replied, adjusting his spectacles as he peered down at Urahara. "That would be within your rights as acting commander of our division, I suppose."

"News travels fast, I see."

"Logic operates as swiftly as it always has. Our captain is away, our lieutenant is deceased, and you are our third seat. And as I am the fourth seat, my services are at your disposal, Urahara-_dono_."

Kisuke frowned. "I'd rather you didn't call me that."

"As you wish, Third Seat Acting Captain Urahara."

His frown edged upwards, despite his best efforts. "Touché. As I seem to have lost most of my morning, is there any more news on the status of _Rukongai_?"

"The riots have mostly subsided since you entered First Division, not that they were going to last long once the captains returned from the living world. There are still fires in the wildlands, but most of the blazes in settled areas have been put out."

"That's good. What brings you back inside the _Seireitei_, then? I thought all hands were recalled."

"That's actually why I'm here. Captain Unohana asked me to check the divisions for stragglers."

"Stragglers?" Urahara's brows knit at the odd choice of words.

"Ah, you may not have heard yet. The _juureichi_ shifted early this morning. You already know about the _Daireimon_ of course, but most of our other gates were shut down during the transition. Many _shinigami _have been returning to Soul Society in small groups using personal gates."

"You've been busy, then."

"Hmm," Tsukabishi rumbled his agreement. "It's been difficult to reestablish the _senkaimon_ in the commotion, but I have managed to stabilize two new portals in _Rukongai_, and have several scouts out mapping out new potential sites."

"Good work," Urahara said, and he more than meant it. With Captain Ise's command of the _kido_ corps, and exacerbated by the late Lieutenant Kusunoki's lack of involvement in command decisions, Twelfth Division's leadership structure could be unorthodox at times, and difficult to wrangle in others. As a _kido_ master who coordinated the division's many practitioners, in many ways Tessai had more authority than some captains, even though he was only a fourth seat.

"I believe I've found everyone there is to be found for the moment. I presume you're returning to division headquarters?"

Urahara nodded, and resumed walking. Tsukabishi fell into stride to his right and a half-step behind. "Fourth Division allowed me to leave the infirmary, but not to return to duty. At least not near anything more dangerous than a quill and parchment. Yamamoto may have gotten my debriefing, but I have a very long after-action report to write. Two weeks of undercover work, plus the gate encounters. That's before I even get to the interesting stuff."

"You refer to the battle with this new hollow. The 'Vasto Lorde,' as I recall."

"Were you listening outside the Captain-Commander's office?" Urahara wondered, looking askance at his friend.

"Lieutenant Kuchiki delivered her report earlier this morning," Tessai explained. "That's more than enough time for rumors to percolate. The subject has monopolized divisional gossip, which is saying quite a lot considering the eventfulness of the past two days."

"True enough. This is one report that isn't going to be filed away for dust collection. It's not every day you encounter a new class of hollow."

"Or for it to be defeated by a third seat with a heretofore unannounced _bankai_."

Kisuke winced. "So that's out, too. I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

Tessai adjusted his glasses again, but one corner of his mouth was quirked ever so slightly. If Urahara was any judge, he looked almost smug. "No need to apologize. I could almost retire on the money you just made me in the pool."

Urahara blinked. "There was a pool? On what, exactly?"

"The next _Gotei_ Thirteen _bankai_. I was the only participant to pick your name, and as it has been almost fifteen years since Captain Hikifune's promotion, the pot had grown rather significant. Most of the seated officers pay into it."

"I can infiltrate a clandestine organization of rogue _kido_ users, but I can't discover a betting ring under my own nose?" Kisuke lamented.

"Don't feel too badly, Urahara-_dono_. One is not permitted to bet on oneself."

"Wait, if you were the only person to pick me…"

Tessai's chuckle was a low rumble. "Yoruichi-_sama_ has been denied participation since winning the four previous instances."

Urahara laughed. An _Onmitsukido_ agent correctly guessing the identities of new _bankai_ users… who would've thought? "Well, perhaps you'll treat me to dinner for making you a rich man. After two weeks in _Rukongai_, I'm convinced the people outside these walls have forgotten what actual food is supposed to taste like."

"When just one in a hundred of them eats for anything more than luxury, can you truly blame them for losing their palates?" They had reached the headquarters of Twelfth Division. Tessai stepped ahead of Urahara to open the doors.

"I suppose not," Kisuke admitted as he walked inside. "But if we don't stop talking about food, I'm never going to make it through all the paperwork…" his voice trailed off.

"Urahara-_dono_? You… Oh." Tessai was stopped short as well by the sight before them.

The barracks common room was the first thing one saw upon entering the Twelfth Division headquarters. Part lounge, part mess hall, part recreation room, it was where most of the division spent their time when not on duty. With the entire roster recalled to service outside the _Seireitei_, Urahara had expected to find it empty. Instead, it was occupied by five people, none of whom were actually members of Twelfth Division.

They were crowded around an open trap door in the floor by the far wall, which Kisuke recognized as the entrance to the cellar. One of them appeared to be unconscious, and was being dragged through the hatch by two _shinigami_ in plain black uniforms: a young woman Urahara didn't know, pigtailed, bespectacled and frowning, as well as a boy with drooping black hair and a melancholy expression. For all the world they looked like a group of enlisted men who had just been caught sneaking back into their rooms after curfew, despite the fact that the last two intruders wore _haoris_, and one of them a gaudy pink drape.

"Ah, Kisuke-_kun_," Captain Shunsui Kyoraku said, welcoming them with a friendly wave. "You know, I bet this looks rather strange. Why don't I start at the beginning…"


	16. Chapter Sixteen: Infiltration

**Chapter Sixteen**

**Infiltration**

"You just had to say it, didn't you?"

"Shunsui…"

"You just couldn't resist, could you?"

"Shunsui-_san_…"

"Would it have been so hard to wait just a few minutes?"

Juushiro pinched the bridge of his nose, trying very hard not to sigh. "This is _not_ happening because I said 'let's go home.'"

The two captains were still standing on European soil, amidst what once had been Esprit's town square. No sooner had the gate to Avalon closed than Shunsui had realized another hurdle in their path. They needed to get Caylen, or more specifically the strange orb embedded in his chest, back to Soul Society, but there was one large problem: Caylen was, inexplicable as it might be, still alive.

"How many times have I made innocuous comments just like that, only to have you harass me about how badly things turn out?"

Ukitake's dark eyebrows knitted together. The last legacy of the hair color he had lost to sickness before Kyoraku had met him, they lent his expressions a certain gravity that his white hair and thin frame might otherwise have denied him. "When was the last time you said anything innocuous?"

"I asked you to take a walk with me the other week, remember? I just wanted to lift your spirits, but you gave me no end of grief…"

"Shunsui, you 'walked' us onto the roof of the Ninth Division women's bathhouse."

"You've told me steam can be soothing for your lungs. Is it my fault they have an open-air hot spring? They're practically next door to my headquarters, how can you expect me not to make use of that?"

Ukitake blinked several times. "I'm going to forget I heard you say that."

"Ah, the very thought makes me long to return all the more. Think, Juushiro. There has to be some way we can get this boy to Soul Society. What about _konso_?"

"He's not dead. A soul burial on a living human would just drive his spirit from his body."

"Well that would be a start, right?"

"His soul chain would still be connected, unless you mean to kill him. And it's his body we're trying to get to the afterlife."

"_Kido_, then. Is there some kind of stasis spell we could use?"

Juushiro pondered for a moment, but shook his head. "Nothing comes to mind."

"Bah!" Shunsui growled, wiping a hand across his forehead with agitation. "We've got more contingency plans and response scenarios than we could hope to use in a lifetime of crises, but you're telling me no one's ever thought of something to fix a problem like this?"

"Honestly, getting human bodies into the afterlife isn't something _shinigami_ have cared a great deal about before."

"Figures." Folding his arms into the sleeves of his _haori_, Shunsui scowled at the ground, mind churning for some old trick, a half-remembered lesson, or anything that might get them out of their current predicament. The flicker of an idea came to him. He drew his wakizashi, and knelt beside Caylen.

"What're you doing?" Juushiro asked.

"Maybe we can't get his body to Soul Society with _konso_, but if we release his spirit, at least we can talk to him. He might be able to give us some clue about what Kijuro did."

"I suppose it's worth a try," Ukitake admitted. "Just be careful. We don't want to damage his chain."

"I'll be the soul of caution." Holding Katen Kyokotsu hilt-first, he lowered the sword to tap the knight lightly on the forehead.

No sooner had the pommel made contact than Shunsui drew the weapon back with a yelp. The feeling that had surged as soon as he had touched the man's body left his arm numb and tingling all the way up to his elbow.

Instead of drawing the knight's soul out of his body, the act left the glowing seal of soul burial upon his forehead. The icon faded, spreading outwards across Caylen's form with a wave of faint light. The glow intensified when it reached the orb in his chest, and a second surge washed outwards from there, receding slowly into his body.

"I don't think that was supposed to happen," Shunsui said, rubbing his arm as the pins-and-needles sensation slowly faded.

Ukitake was studying the knight's prone form, his brow furrowed in concentration. He reached out a tentative hand to touch Caylen's arm, and his expression became even more intense. "Impossible…"

"Eh?"

"His body. Feel it, Shunsui. It's been turned into spirit particles."

To his amazement, Kyoraku discovered that his friend was right. Though _shinigami_ were invisible to humans, they could interact with the living world thanks to their _reiatsu_. And since they could exist on both planes, they possessed an instinctive feel for the difference between spirit particles and their tangible counterparts. Caylen's body was now unmistakably made of the former.

The more time they spent around this orb, the more worried Shunsui became. There were rules that defined his world that he had worked with for centuries, rules as clear as the boundaries between the world of the living and the afterlife, or hollows and _shinigami_. For the past day, he had seen more and more of those concepts expanded, bent, challenged, or even outright thwarted. This little thing was now proving itself the worst offender in the assault on his worldview. And no matter how long he lived, Kyoraku had found the fear of the unknown to be a universal constant. Experience only served to reduce the frequency of occurrences. "I don't like this, Juushiro. I don't like it at all."

"You think the orb may be dangerous?"

"I _know_ it is, but not just how you're thinking. We're standing on rotten ice, my friend. It's bad enough if we return to Soul Society with news of a captain missing, probably dead," he gritted his teeth at the admission, but there was no sense in denying it now. They had bigger concerns. "There won't be any hiding that. But if word gets out of something like this, an object we don't yet understand in the least, the rumors will feed off of one another until they're out of control."

"You're worried things will get blown out of proportion."

"To say the least. Morale is already low, and the loss of a senior officer won't help. But if it becomes known we brought this thing back at the same time, we'll have tall tales of a captain performing desperate experiments in foreign lands, and soon everyone will start thinking just a little too much about our current state of affairs and how the plague has progressed."

"I think you're letting your imagination get the best of you," Ukitake said doubtfully. "But you still might have a point. Until we know just what this orb is, the fewer people who know about it, the better."

"Right. We need to have Retsu examine this boy, or maybe someone with a grasp of what the _kido_ might have done. Better yet, both."

"I agree. But to do that, we're going to have to get him back to Soul Society quietly."

Kyoraku was already thinking the same thing. "I can make us a gate straight to Eighth Division headquarters."

"Through the _dangai_? Remember, only the two of us will have hell butterflies."

"Of course."

"But what about the time dilation? Or if we run into the cleaner?"

"Not a problem. Remember who you're talking to."

That only made Ukitake look more confused. "Forgive me, Shunsui, but this doesn't strike me as one of your areas of expertise."

Kyoraku wagged a finger at him, shaking his head. "For all my years of effort, it seems I still haven't trained you to think correctly. You see the precipice world as a dimension full of twisted time and perilous non-sentient housekeepers. I see it as the most fabulous drinking escape in all existence. I can spend days, even weeks, in blissful refreshment, and emerge without having missed out on so much as a good night's sleep, let alone a captains' meeting. The scenery leaves something to be desired, of course."

Juushiro regarded him in stunned silence for several seconds. "It seems that after all this time, you can still surprise me."

"Why thank you," Shunsui replied, with a grin that was understated, but by no means humble. He bent down to pick up Caylen. The knight was not a large man, a few inches shorter than Kyoraku and more sinewy than muscled. He didn't make a sound as the captain slung him piggyback over his shoulders. With a free hand Shunsui drew his katana, calling forth a gate to Soul Society. The doors slid open. "My office in headquarters should be deserted, which works out well for us. Stay close."

They traversed the inky blackness of the _dangai_, moving between the undulating walls of the wresting flow at a brisk jog. For once luck was with them, and they saw no sign of the _Kototsu_'s weekly cleansing sweep. They reached the entrance to Soul Society without incident, and Shunsui was as good as his word. They emerged in the center of Kyoraku's office in Eighth Division headquarters, and the familiar surroundings buoyed their spirits at once.

From behind them, a startled noise and a wooden thud cut off the relief of their homecoming with a burst of panic. Any hope of a clandestine return seemed to have been lost before their feet had even settled on the floor. They whirled to find the source of the noise, but whoever had spotted them had taken a tumble behind Shunsui's ornate wooden desk on the other side of the room.

"I thought you said the headquarters would be deserted," Juushiro snapped, craning his neck to try and see behind the furniture.

"They should be!" protested Kyoraku. With his absence from Soul Society and an unfilled lieutenant's post, by rights no one should have been in his office. _Since when did I have any officers crazy enough to do my paperwork for me, anyway?_

"Owww… that'll leave a mark," a feminine voice came from behind the desk. A young woman lurched into view as she rose to her feet. She was rubbing the back of her head between a pair of braided pigtails. When she caught sight of the new arrivals, the bump on her head was abruptly forgotten. "Captain Kyoraku!" she blurted. She snapped to attention, her pained expression vanishing at once. One hand shot up for a fleeting moment to adjust the skewed pair of spectacles perched on her nose, and snapped back to her side just as quickly.

"And who might you be?" Kyoraku purred. The shock of an unfamiliar face sitting in his office, even one sitting at his own desk, was of no consequence when said face was as fetching as this one.

"Sixth Seat Lisa Yadomaru, Captain Kyoraku, sir!"

"What brings you to my office, Lisa-_chan_?"

"Just, well, there were a few forms, sir," she said uncertainly. "I, ahh…"

"Surely no one's putting someone like you to work as a courier."

She looked confused for a moment, but fought it down at once. "Courier, sir?"

"Ferrying forms between divisions is work for enlisted men," Shunsui said smoothly. He could almost hear Ukitake's stifled groan, and didn't have to try hard to imagine the eye roll he was being subjected to. His best friend had heard this tone all too often when a pretty face was in proximity. "If your captain has you doing legwork, then I might just have a word with them about the proper utilization of resources. Perhaps even a transfer, if you'd be interested in working for me."

Shunsui had encountered a great variety of reactions to his charm. He was man enough to admit not all of them had been as positive as he would like, but Lisa's expression was something new. Her face fell, just for an instant, but in that heartbeat she looked almost hurt. Then her gaze hardened, her eyes narrowed, and the businesslike tone she adopted matched her new demeanor to a tee. "That would be difficult, sir. Considering I already serve under you."

"Ah," Kyoraku said lamely. His amorous grin soured into something almost comically pitiful as he groped for a more articulate recovery.

"I thought it best if someone kept up with the day-to-day operations of the division," she continued, all business now. "We hadn't expected you back so soon." She made her comment on the timing of his return sound like an unrelated afterthought, and Shunsui didn't miss the implied slight on his bureaucratic prowess. But unfortunately for Lisa, while such words might serve as cutting insults and shameful reproaches to most men, Shunsui Kyoraku was decidedly _not_ most men.

"Ah, Lisa-_chan_, your dedication shatters my fragile heart. How could I have gone so long without recognizing the devotion my officers have shown me?"

A majority of subordinates would have interpreted such a statement as an apology, and fallen over themselves in earnest graciousness to soothe their captain's feelings. But Lisa Yadomaru, in turn, was decidedly _not_ a majority of subordinates. "The devotion of your officers isn't that hard to recognize. Your third seat is only in his office because he's passed out drunk there. Your fourth is probably sitting at a dice table in _Rukongai_, assuming the building didn't burn down around him. And your fifth seat wouldn't touch a report for risk of getting inkblots on his expensive clothes. I'm all you've got, and you didn't even know I was in your division. Captain." The rank came out hastily, betraying just a hint of uncertainty that she'd gone too far.

Not that she should have worried. Staving off a shiver that had nothing to do with fear, Kyoraku leaned towards his friend, shielding his mouth conspiratorially. "I think I'm in love."

"_I_ think someone needs promoted," Juushiro whispered back.

If the content of the two captains' mutterings unnerved her at all, Yadomaru showed no sign. She waited patiently to be sure they were done before continuing. "What brings you back from your mission so soon, sir? And with a… guest, I see."

Kyoraku had almost forgotten about the unconscious English knight slung over his back, which was another point in Lisa's favor as far as he was concerned. Not that she needed any more; between her sharp tongue and her cool head, he had liked her at once. And with long experience, Shunsui trusted the people that he liked. "It's a long story, Lisa -_chan_, too long to fill you in just yet. But I'm going to ask you to trust me that it's important that we get this man in front of Captain Unohana or a _kido_ expert, as quickly and quietly as possible."

"Captain Unohana is in _Rukongai_," she replied without hesitation. "It won't be possible to get to her unseen. And between the riots and the arson, there are too many wounded for her to be called back to the _Seireitei_ without her absence being noted."

"Riots?" Juushiro gasped. "And arson? What in all the heavens happened here?"

"We don't have time for that," said Shunsui. Enough injuries to bring Retsu outside the walls was too big a story for them to add to their troubles just yet.

"Our best bet for a _kido_ master would be Twelfth Division, of course," Yadomaru went on, not missing a beat. If she noted Captain Ise's absence, which Shunsui was sure she had, she made no mention of it.

"All right. How do we get there without anyone seeing us?"

One of Lisa's eyebrows perched upwards, betraying a small piece of the frustration she had to be feeling. "You really didn't think this through, did you?"

Kyoraku shrugged. "Spontaneity, Lisa-_chan_. If you want to work here long, get used to it."

"The service tunnels can get us there unnoticed," she suggested.

"Service tunnels?" Kyoraku said blankly.

"They run underground all throughout _Seireitei_," she explained. "Fourth Division uses them for maintenance and moving supplies around."

Kyoraku and Ukitake shared a look. "I didn't even know they were there," said Juushiro.

Though her stern expression didn't waver, and her frown only deepened if anything, a hint of a blush crept onto her cheeks. "I… used to be in fourth," she muttered.

She could have said that she was from another planet, and that would not have succeeded in surprising Shunsui near as much as the admission she actually made. "Are you a healer?" he wondered. Any _shinigami_ with enough spiritual power to merit a sixth seat posting wouldn't find themselves relegated to the support division unless they had an otherworldly talent as a physician; Unohana tried not to keep anyone with that much combat potential away from the front lines. Though it made Fourth Division the butt of far too many ignorant jokes as far as Shunsui was concerned, Retsu knew better than anyone how to put people where they would do the most good.

If the deepening flush on her face was any indication, healing talent was not what had landed Lisa Yadomaru in Fourth Division. She grumbled something, too low for Shunsui to hear.

"What was that?"

"I said I couldn't see!" she barked. She was scowling furiously and her face was the color of Shunsui's flowered drape. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "When I went through the academy, my vision was so bad that I knocked one of my swordsmanship instructors out cold instead of hitting the training dummy he was standing next to. I was too strong, and my classroom work was too good, to keep me from graduating, but the only division that offered me a post was fourth."

Corrective vision implements were a new invention, which Shunsui knew from the ecstatic discovery Kijuro had made no more than a few decades ago. Ise's ingenuity, combined with a few new engineering processes his third seat had cooked up, had made the spectacles offered in Soul Society a great deal more comfortable and compact than the bulky and ungainly models still in their infancy in the living world. Even so, their availability was something that had only just become common knowledge, and effective pairs were fiendishly expensive. It would have taken a seated officer years to save up enough for them.

"Well, Fourth Division may have had you first, but I'm glad you've found a home here, Lisa-_chan_," Kyoraku said.

She nodded, her color returning to normal. Her expression became almost wistful. "Approving my transfer request was one of the last things Lieutenant Koda did before he passed away," she explained. "He said… Well, he seemed to think that you'd notice me, sir."

Shunsui couldn't help but smile at that. _You really did have my back until the end, Masaki. You dog, you even picked your successor without bothering to tell me_. "He did have an eye for talent," he said. "And I promise not to waste it. If you can get us through the service tunnels, lead the way."

Lisa wasted no time. She ushered the two captains and their unconscious charge out of Shunsui's office and down the stairs. They passed the offices of the lower seats, and down again to the level that served as their quarters. The next level was the common area, but she kept descending. Through the mess hall, the enlisted barracks, and the kitchens, still she led them down. Kyoraku had honestly forgotten just how many levels his own divisional headquarters had. They were at least two floors underground and moving through the storage cellars when she brought them to a hatch, set in a forlorn corner underneath several bags of rice. Tossing aside the foodstuffs, she wrenched the trap door open, summoning a ball of raw _kido_ into her hand to light the way.

An unexpectedly sturdy stone staircase led down into an even more unexpectedly robust series of tunnels. Carved of the same stone that formed the tiles of the Court, the passages were clean, dry, and far larger than Shunsui had anticipated. The only thing they seemed to lack was adequate lighting, as the only illumination beyond the energy in Lisa's hand was from a few dim panels mounted at long intervals on the walls.

She led them down the passage, taking them through several turns and intersections. After a few of the detours Shunsui was feeling as though they were going in circles, but he chalked it up to the disorientation of being underground. For her part, Lisa showed no sign of being lost, never once stopping to get her bearings or slowing her steady pace.

That made it quite a shock when she brought them to a sudden halt just short of a large crossroads. Yadomaru held up a hand for quiet, clenching her fist around the _kido_ she held to snuff out the light. Before Shunsui could ask what was going on, he heard footsteps ahead, the scuffle of sandals across stone tiles.

"Should anyone else be down here?" Kyoraku asked, keeping his voice as low as he could.

"My knowledge of fourth division cleaning schedules is a few months out-of-date, sir."

"That's too bad. You never know when knowledge like that might come in handy."

Lisa frowned up at him. "These are maintenance and supply routes, not watering holes."

Shunsui grinned. "So _you_ say."

"Keep it down, you two," Ukitake breathed. The shuffling footfalls were getting louder. "How close are we?" Kyoraku guessed his friend's thinking at once; they might be able to flash step by whoever was approaching and continue on to their destination unobserved.

"The entrance to Twelfth Division's barracks is to the left, just past this next intersection."

There went that idea. That was right where the sounds were coming from.

The footsteps stopped. Everyone held their breath. "H-Hello?" a voice called. "W-Who's there?"

Well, so much for going unnoticed. Short of knocking out some hapless fourth squad member whose only crime was trying to sweep out the wrong tunnel at the wrong time, they didn't have many options left as stealth went.

"Is s-someone there?" the voice asked, high and tremulous. It almost sounded frightened. "Akula-_san_, if that's you, then you've got me, very funny… just please don't lock me in a storage closet again…"

With an inward sigh, Shunsui stepped forward. Just around the corner, he came upon a young _shinigami_, dark-haired and slouched. He gave a start when Kyoraku came into view, holding a broom out in front of him in what might have been a defensive posture. His heavy-lidded eyes went wide, which did little to lessen the dolorous cast of his face.

"Hello there," Shunsui said amiably, as though they were crossing paths on a _Seireitei_ street, as opposed to the sewers beneath them.

"C-C-C-Captain Kyoraku!"

"Nice day for a stroll, isn't it? Keep up the good work!" He clapped the young man on the shoulder as he walked past, making no mention of the unconscious man slung over his shoulders, or the presence of Juushiro or Lisa as they followed him by.

"Yadomaru-_sempai_? What're you doing here?"

Lisa stopped, and peered down at the boy. Slight as she was, she topped him by several inches. "Yamada-_kun_?" His face brightened at her recognition, which made him look merely morose as opposed to despondent.

"You know him?" Juushiro asked Lisa.

"I do," she replied. "This is Hanataro Yamada, a Fourth Division member."

"I haven't seen you since your transfer, _sempai_. How are you? And what are you doing back in the maintenance tunnels?"

"She's helping us with a very important mission, Yamada-_kun_," Juushiro put in, before any more awkward questions came up. "It's important that you don't tell anyone that you saw us down here."

"Oh, don't worry about that, Captain Ukitake," Hanataro replied. "No one in my squad really pays much attention to me, anyway. Someone was supposed to come down and relieve me from cleaning duty about a week ago, but I think they forgot I was here."

Lisa sighed. "Are you still letting them push you around like that?"

"I don't mind, really. I like it down here, it's nice and quiet. And…" he trailed off, blinking heavily in Shunsui's direction. "Captain Kyoraku, who's that you're carrying?"

"This is why we need you to be quiet, Hana-_kun_," Shunsui said. "This man is from Avalon." It wasn't strictly true, but it was easier than trying to explain how Caylen was technically still alive.

"Is he hurt?" Hanataro asked. If encountering a soul from one of the other afterlife regions startled him, he hid it well. "I've almost completed my medical training. It's not much, but Captain Unohana said I should qualify for a seat once I'm done."

"Thank you, Hanataro, but we're trying to get him to Twelfth Division," said Ukitake. "That's why we're here."

"Really? The maintenance hatch to twelfth is right here, then." He pointed. The stairway up into the barracks was visible just behind him. "If you're trying to get him in quietly, let me go first. If anyone's there, they won't think twice about someone like me showing up."

"He has a point," Lisa admitted.

"I think we've had enough surprises for one day," Shunsui agreed. "All right, Hanataro. Lead the way."

Yamada shuffled ahead, climbing the staircase. Pushing open the hatch, he peeked inside, taking a good look around before beckoning the rest of them up. They emerged into a storage cellar similar to the one that held the maintenance hatch in Eighth Division, though this space had fallen out of use, and was filled with dust and cobwebs as opposed to food and sundries. Hanataro arrived at a small, rickety-looking wooden ladder that led straight up to another trap door. He climbed the ladder, but this portal proved less cooperative than the others. The boy might not have weighed five stone soaking wet, but he threw himself against the hatch with a grunt. Predictably, it didn't budge.

"Don't hurt yourself, kid," Shunsui said. "Get down from there."

Hanataro obeyed. Once he was off the ladder, Shunsui shifted Caylen off his shoulders, handing him over to Hanataro. Kyoraku climbed, braced himself, and gave the door a firm shove. It opened several inches before it was pushed back down by something heavy and wooden, judging by the noise. He felt whatever was stacked on top of the door shift after a second push, and the third got the door open at last. They'd made enough racket by now to wake the dead, but after a glance around the room appeared to be deserted. He shot a sour look at the desk that someone had decided to sit right on top of the hatch as he climbed out. "Come on up," he told the others.

Juushiro was the next one through, joining Shunsui in what appeared to be the common room of the Twelfth Division barracks. Both captains knelt to give Hanataro and Lisa a hand in lifting the unconscious knight through the trap door. It was then that the sound of a door opening prompted Kyoraku to turn.

Two men were standing in the main entrance of the barracks, staring at them, mouths caught open in the midst of a conversation that had been interrupted by the sight of five people making an illicit entrance to a division where they did not belong. Shunsui recognized one of them at once. "Ah, Kisuke-_kun_," he said with a friendly wave. "You know, I bet this looks rather strange. Why don't I start at the beginning…"

* * *

In many ways, it was the most beautiful thing Kisuke Urahara had ever seen.

It was such a little thing, a sphere that could have fit easily into the palm of his hand. Its colors were vibrant but unremarkable, shades of violet and blue jumbled together like a blot of paint. But it was not its size, its shape, or its colors that intrigued Kisuke. It was its presence, its sense of mystery, and an almost tangible aura of the inexplicable that resonated through every fiber of his being. Its existence struck a chord with Urahara, begging the very questions that drove him, the eternal queries of _what_, _why_, and _how_.

The orb's container provided his own share of mysteries, as well. A living human, spontaneously converted into spirit particles after becoming host to a manifested _kido_. The fact that he was even here while technically still alive would have kindled the flames of Urahara's curiosity, but everything added together? It was almost enough to make him forget that his captain had given his life to bring it about.

The scientist in Urahara had full control of his faculties, however, in every sense of the phrase. At the moment, time was too precious to squander on mourning.

"Has he shown any signs of regaining consciousness?" Kisuke asked, his gaze sweeping over Caylen, recording every detail.

"He hasn't made a sound since we found him," Captain Ukitake replied. The frail captain was sitting on one of the few uncluttered chairs in Urahara's private workshop, a small annex of the Twelfth Division offices he had appropriated to serve as his personal laboratory. It was filled it with all manner of extraordinary equipment, primarily of his own design, in various stages of development. Half-assembled devices were strewn about in a fashion vaguely resembling organization, benches and tables piled high with half-recognizable components of the technical wizardry that was just starting to infiltrate the _Gotei_ Thirteen through Kisuke's handiwork. The room was also one of the most secure locations in the _Seireitei_, being that most of the squad knew well enough to avoid the place. After all, it was better to be called in for fire control from a safe distance than risk being caught in the not uncommon conflagrations when they started.

Urahara's eyes narrowed. "No reactions at all? This is something deeper than a simple loss of consciousness."

"Could it have something to do with the orb?" Captain Kyoraku wondered.

Urahara couldn't suppress a smile. "That would be a safe assumption. How or why, though, is anyone's guess."

"Can you figure out what it is?"

The scientist frowned. "That depends."

"On what?"

"Whether you're asking me if I'll determine what it is within my lifetime, or whether I can tell you what it is before you leave this room."

Shunsui gave a bark of laughter. "I deserved that. I suppose I'll settle for any guesses you might have."

"The orb's _reiatsu_ signature is remarkable, unlike anything I've ever felt," Urahara said. "It's a complete jumble of hollow and _shinigami_ spiritual resonances."

"I feel that, too," Ukitake agreed. "Is it possible this orb is some sort of container, a spell binding the spirits caught within?"

Kisuke shook his head. "I know what you're asking, because I hope for it, too. Unfortunately, I don't think that's the case. It's not just that the spirit bodies have been packed together in a small space… they've been melded somehow. Fused in a way we never thought possible. Whatever this orb is, whatever it contains, it no longer possesses any distinction between _shinigami_ and hollow."

There was no missing the deflation of the room's atmosphere. No one spoke for several moments, but in that time some of the life left the postures of everyone present. Urahara hated to deliver the bad news so blithely, but he had said no more than the truth. Since it was one of the only things he had been able to determine from his brief exposure to the orb so far, he wasn't about to withhold the information, however depressing it might be.

"You're positive about that?" Kyoraku asked, uncharacteristically somber.

"I'm afraid so."

The captain of Eighth Division stood with a sigh, adjusting a parcel hidden beneath his kimono. "Then we have another stop to make," he said, with a significant glance at Captain Ukitake. "Yama-_ji_'s not going to like this news."

"Genryuusai-_dono_ deserves to hear it from us, and sooner rather than later."

The two captains moved towards the door of the lab. Kyoraku stopped, leveling Urahara with a significant glance. "I'm sorry that we've dropped this on you, Kisuke-_kun_, in more ways than you know. The Captain-Commander isn't going to be happy, and he's going to want answers to the questions this little pickle will bring up. _All_ the questions." It was not a sensation Urahara would have associated with the man generally agreed to be the most carefree of the captains, but he could feel the intensity behind Kyoraku's gaze, just as he could feel the sweat begin to bead on his brow. "We'll be the ones taking the heat for the moment, but you're going to need to have your answers ready. You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Urahara suppressed the urge to swallow through a suddenly dry throat. "Yes, Captain Kyoraku, I think I do."

The silence in the laboratory was palpable upon the captains' exit. Even the buzzes and whirs of the motley machinery in the background seemed subdued.

"Hmm," Tessai Tsukabishi rumbled from his place along the outside wall.

Urahara nearly jumped out of his skin. "Damnit, Tessai, I wish you'd stop doing that."

"It is a poor subordinate who tries to make himself noticed when he is not needed," the big man replied, eyes inscrutable behind the glare of his spectacles. "It was not my place to comment to the captains about what I observed."

"If you had some ideas about this orb, I'm sure they would have been happy to hear them. I mean, just look at it, Tessai! Can't you feel its energy?"

Tessai stepped forward deliberately, his gaze never leaving Urahara. "I wasn't referring to the orb."

Kisuke blinked. "Sorry?"

"It is not that I failed to observe the orb. I felt the same thing everyone else felt about it; the twisted energies, the vast chasm of sensation it exudes, as inviting as a dark abyss. The same things everyone felt… except for you."

"Don't be ridiculous, Tessai. I know it wasn't the time or place to start spouting theories in front of two men who had just lost an old friend, but surely you see the possibilities here? This object, whatever it is, has shown us a way to break the boundaries between _shinigami_ and hollow… and it was crafted by _kido_! If we could reproduce this material… synthesize it, somehow…"

"There," Tessai interrupted. "_That_ is what I observed. I do not like the look in your eyes, Urahara-_dono_. It was not my place to point it out to the captains, but with you I shall be blunt. You see this thing for what it might be, and not for what it _is_. You are not wrong: it might be groundbreaking; it might be incredible. But it was forged by the very essence of a man we both admired, to contain an evil that we can just barely comprehend. You must not allow its potential to drive its nature from your mind."

Kisuke felt oddly ashamed, but only for a moment. He wouldn't admit it to most people, but Tessai and Yoruichi were the two people who knew him too well for him to deny their observations. Yoruichi could be wheedled or cajoled, up to a point, but Tessai served as much as his conscience as he did his subordinate. He wouldn't be fooled by false contrition. "I don't like looking at it that way, Tessai-_san_. I can't abide a world where people and things just _are_. They can change, or they can be changed. Nothing is static. Captain Ise may have died to create this, and he may have destroyed a terrible hollow in the process, but I can't help but see what this discovery might allow us to do, the things it might make possible. That's just who I am."

Tessai seemed to ponder that for a long while. "Then we had best make sure you can discover those possibilities properly. The captains went to a great deal of trouble bringing this boy here unseen, so we had best keep it that way. I'll set up a barrier for now, until a more permanent solution can be devised. A modified _Kyomon_ should work for now, I think, to keep out prying eyes."

"Thank you, Tessai. For what it's worth, I'll try not to forget what you said."

"Hrmph," the big man sniffed. "If I understand Captain Kyoraku's intimations, I may have to enjoy offering blunt advice to you while I still can."


End file.
